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MERRILIE   DAWES 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


BOOKS  BY  FRANK  H.  SPEARMAN 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


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'Mr.  Adrane',"  she  exclaimed — her  eyes  still  on  him  but 
her  words  for  Annie — "seems  very  worthy 

of  his  good  fortune."  See  page  27 


MERRILIE  DAWES 


BY 

FRANK   H.  SPEARMAN 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

ARTHUR  E.  BECKER 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK::::::::::::::::::::i9i3 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  September,  1913 


TO  MY  NIECE 

GRACE    SWINTON    LEWIS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Mr.  Adrane,"  she  exclaimed — her  eyes  still  on  him 
but  her  words  for  Annie — "seems  very  worthy  of 
his  good  fortune" Frontispiece 

TACING 
PAGE 

She  drew  her  wrap  carelessly  across  her  wrist,  but  he 
turned  and,  taking  the  garment  from  her,  laid  it 
again  over  her  shoulders 156 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  choking.     "I  will  never  sell  it. 

It  is  needless  to  think  of  it" 256 

"You  shall  all  have  your  money,"  he  repeated  unwa- 
veringly and  without  emotion.  "In  time  I  will  pay 
you  every  dollar" 302 


2133001 


Merrilie  Dawes 


CHAPTER  I 

A)RANE'S  engagement  to  Annie  Whitney  had 
been  announced  in   Florida   and  at  about 
the  time  the  winter  tide  of  travel  was  setting 
northward. 

An  engagement  to  marry  is  always  a  topic  of 
mild  interest  even  among  people  of  indifferent  so- 
cial activities.  In  this  instance  the  fact  that  John 
Adrane,  not  a  New  York  man,  was  but  slightly 
known  to  those  of  the  circle  in  which  Annie  moved 
as  a  favorite,  contributed  further  to  the  interest 
of  the  moment  in  which  the  topic  was  under  dis- 
cussion in  Mrs.  Hamersley's  car.  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley  regularly  felt  in  New  York  the  call  of 
the  country  and  the  sea,  and  early  in  the  season 
made  what  usually  proved  a  wintry  trip  to  one  of 
the  two  Hamersley  country  places,  Crossrips  on 
Crossrips  Island,  a  stretch  of  sandy,  heathery 
moors  in  the  North  Atlantic  that  Mrs.  Hamers- 
ley described  as  farthest  New  England. 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Amos  Hamersley,  when  nearing  sixty,  was 
widely  known  to  his  restless  and  dissatisfied  coun- 
trymen as  a  public  malefactor  and  more  accu- 
rately to  his  philosophic  wife  as  an  extremely 
docile  though  high-strung  and  irritable  domes- 
tic tyrant.  Such  a  man  would  naturally  find  it 
easier  to  arrange  for  his  wife's  customary  spring 
trip  to  Crossrips  than  to  argue  about  it.  During 
a  period  of  thirty  years — for  the  Hamersleys  had 
been  going  to  Crossrips  as  long  as  that — Mrs. 
Hamersley  had  once  found  the  island  weather 
in  early  spring  delightful.  Unluckily,  it  had 
happened  in  one  of  the  first  years  of  the  con- 
siderable period,  and  Mrs.  Hamersley,  hoping 
annually  for  another  such  spring,  was  usually 
driven  back  to  the  city  for  another  long  interval 
by  cold  winds.. 

On  this  occasion  Mr.  Hamersley  had  timed 
with  the  Crossrips  visit  a  trip  for  the  inspection 
of  certain  New  England  railroad  lines,  over  which 
he  and  his  New  York  associates  exercised  a  benef- 
icent despotism. 

There  was,  too,  a  stronger  reason  than  any  that 
might  on  the  surface  be  apparent  for  this  yearly 
Crossrips  pilgrimage  before  even  the  lilacs  bloomed. 
But  one  child,  a  daughter,  Mary  or  Madge,  had 
been  born  to  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Hamersley,  and  that 
early  in  their  married  life.  Madge,  with  Mer- 

2 


Merrilie  Dawes 

rilie  Dawes  for  her  closest  companion,  had  been  a 
child  of  Crossrips.  The  summer  years  of  her  girl- 
hood had  been  spent  at  Crossrips.  At  eighteen 
Madge  had  died,  and  her  place  had  not  been  filled. 
Mrs.  Hamersley  never  urged  the  memory  as  a 
reason  for  going  with  the  first  hope  of  spring  to 
the  island.  Amos  Hamersley  never  alluded  to  it; 
but  he  understood. 

The  travelling  arrangements  of  the  two,  with 
their  added  years  and  growing  requirements  of 
comfort,  had  gradually  become  extended  to  a  gen- 
erous scale  and  usually  included  two  cars.  One 
of  these  provided  a  dining-room  and  its  accessory 
equipment,  and,  in  addition  to  a  number  of  sleep- 
ing-compartments, a  business  office.  The  other 
afforded  a  reception-room  arranged  for  Mrs. 
Hamersley  with  a  series  of  compartments  en  suite. 
The  rear  of  this  car  was  given  over  to  an  observa- 
tion-room opening  on  a  canopied  platform  similar 
to  those  in  American  observation-cars. 

At  the  table  in  the  reception-room,  where  a 
game  of  cards  was  ending  desultorily,  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley had  been  paired  with  Harry  Drake  against 
Mrs.  Julia  Robbins  and  Arthur  More.  Mrs. 
Hamersley  herself  presented  an  agreeable  instance 
of  the  well-groomed  American  woman  in  the  fifties 
whose  almost  white  hair  and  composed  features 
supplied  a  dignity  not  invariably  sustained  by  her 

3 


Merrilie  Dawes 

frankness  of  speech.  But  she  had  penetration 
and  underlying  good  nature;  and  her  Southern  an- 
cestry was  reflected  in  a  pleasantly  deliberate  man- 
ner of  speaking — a  manner  reaching  almost  the 
confidence  of  a  drawl — rather  than  in  any  intona- 
tion in  her  utterance.  The  measured  ease  of  her 
attitude  on  all  subjects  contrasted  with  the  alert- 
ness of  her  partner,  Harry  Drake,  a  man  of  thirty, 
whose  anticipating  smile  and  rather  abrupt  nerv- 
ous pleasantries  concealed,  among  other  things,  a 
diffident  self-consciousness.  Drake,  as  the  only 
son  of  the  head  of  a  large  American  life-assurance 
society,  without  slighting  social  interests,  followed 
nominally  in  his  father's  business  activities.  Mrs. 
Robbins,  his  sister  and  a  childless  widow  of  thirty- 
five,  kept  her  youth  through  an  abundance  of 
health  but  lacked  the  good  nature  predicated  in 
her  plumpness,  and  her  rather  prominent  eyes 
were  inclined  to  be  critical  in  their  unafraid  ex- 
pression. 

David  Spruance  sat  near  the  table  reading  The 
Wall  Street  Times.  He  was  older  than  Drake 
and  quieter.  Spruance  had  preserved,  upon  a  sea 
of  extended  American  monetary  venture  when 
men  had  come  and  men  had  gone  as  bubbles 
raised  and  pelted  by  squalls,  a  poise  unshaken  by 
the  slings  of  fortune.  He  was  a  director  in  many 
of  Amos  Hamersley's  corporations,  a  counsellor 

4 


Merrilie  Dawes 

of  approved  judgment  and  of  restful  integrity. 
He  held  without  effort  a  position  among  men  of 
larger  means  because  his  qualities  of  character 
were,  Merrilie  Dawes  said,  at  a  premium  among 
thieves.  He  had  the  confidence  of  intelligent  hon- 
esty, tempered  at  forty  by  the  realization  of  more 
than  one  surprising  failure  in  his  own  underta- 
kings and  those  of  other  men.  This  tolerant  and 
even  attitude  was  echoed  in  his  blunt  speech. 

Arthur  More,  if  reproached  for  less  of  candor, 
would  doubtless  have  pleaded  that  a  stock-ex- 
change broker  could  not  afford  so  much  as  Spru- 
ance  stood  fast  in;  and  that  a  broker  must,  while 
he  invites  business  from  all  men,  smile  and  speak 
with  care  on  all  topics.  But  because  a  man  does 
not  always  feel  free  to  express  his  convictions  it 
does  not  follow  that  he  is  false  to  those  he  may 
have.  The  only  loss  is  perhaps  one  of  attention 
to  the  man  himself  when  placed  beside  an  out- 
spoken man  of  equal  sense  and  judgment.  We 
watch  any  intellectual  spendthrift  with  more  in- 
terest than  we  do  one  that  regulates  his  mental 
outlay  with  discretion. 

"You've  met  Mr.  Adrane,  Harry,"  suggested 
Julia  while  the  talk  was  on  the  engagement  of 
Annie  Whitney.  "Tell  us  about  him." 

Drake  had  little  to  contribute.  "I've  just  met 
him,  no  more,"  he  returned.  "Father  introduced 

5 


Merrilie  Dawes 

me  to  him  once  coming  from  London.  He  was 
trying  to  get  father  to  buy  some  of  his  West  Shore 
Mississippi  bonds.  I  don't  know  a  thing  about 
him.  Ask  Arthur  More."  He  indicated  More 
with  a  quick  nod,  laughed,  and  looked  at  Mrs. 
Hamersley  for  approval.  "More's  his  banker." 

"But  I  can't  really  say  I  know  Adrane,"  re- 
sponded More,  "except  that  he  is  a  customer  of 
ours.  He  made  a  report  on  a  Western  railroad 
for  us  once.  That  was  about  the  time  of  his  first 
appearance  in  New  York." 

"Was  it  a  good  report?"  asked  Spruance,  with- 
out looking  up  from  his  newspaper. 

"It  was,  because  it  was  the  only  adverse  one  we 
got.  Adrane  sent  me,  after  that,  a  very  unusual 
Indian  rug;  something  finer  than  any  I  have  ever 
found.  I  believe  he  is  the  only  man  that  ever 
gave  me  anything  without  trying  to  borrow  some 
money  on  the  strength  of  it." 

"He  may  be  back  yet,"  suggested  Spruance. 

"Well,  for  two  intelligent  men,"  Julia  Rob- 
bins  dwelt  mildly  on  the  last  two  words,  "both  of 
whom  have  met  the  accused,  you  have  accumu- 
lated about  as  little  information  as  you  possibly 
could.  I  can  do  better  than  that.  Partner,  shall 
we  play  to  a  heart?  Thank  you.  I  saw  them  to- 
gether at  Palm  Beach  last  winter  just  before  the 
races." 

6 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Then  you  can  tell  us  what  everybody  will  want 
to  know,"  said  Spruance.  "How  much  money 
he  has  and  whether  he's  handsome.  The  news- 
papers made  him  a  decent-looking  fellow." 

"If  they  did,  they. flattered  him,"  declared  Julia. 

"We  needn't  dispute  long  about  what  he  looks 
like,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hamersley,  "for  you  will 
soon  have  a  chance  to  see.  Annie  and  he  are  to 
join  us  at  Boston,  with  her  mother." 

"Then  you  will  see  I  am  right,"  asserted  Julia 
confidently.  "And  I  don't  understand  yet  what 
his  business  is." 

"Adrane  is  an  engineer — a  consulting  engineer. 
And  a  promoter,"  said  More. 

Julia  looked  to  their  hostess  for  confirmation. 
"You  might  call  his  business  that,"  volunteered 
Mrs.  Hamersley.  "But  he  is  really  a  railroad 
surgeon." 

"You  don't  mean  he  cuts  the  arms  and  legs  off 
people!"  cried  Julia. 

"Certainly  not.  Mr.  Adrane  operates  on  sick 
railroads.  The  arms  and  legs  come  off  the  in- 
vestors. You  know,"  continued  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
"Mr.  Adrane  and  Annie  met  for  the  first  time  on 
one  of  Amos's  inspection  trips." 

"Does  your  husband  take  pretty  girls  along 
when  he  is  buying  a  railroad?"  exclaimed  Julia. 

"Not  when  he  is  buying  one.  Sometimes — 
7 


Merrilie  Dawes 

after  everything  else  has  failed — he  does  when 
he  is  selling  one/'  explained  Mrs.  Hamersley  pa- 
tiently. "Annie  and  her  mother  were  with  us  on 
that  trip — it  was  in  the  South.  And  your  part- 
ner, Mr.  Kneeland,  was  along,"  said  Mrs.  Hamers- 
ley, speaking  to  More.  "I  noticed  Annie  was 
with  Mr.  Adrane  a  great  deal  in  the  evening,  on 
the  observation  platform.  But  I  couldn't  hear 
what  they  were  saying.  After  the  poor  man  had 
spent  the  day  explaining  things  to  Amos's  cus- 
tomers, I  suppose  he  spent  the  evening  explaining 
them  to  Annie.  It  didn't  seem  irksome  to  Annie 
to  listen  to  technicalities.  She  is  such  an  engaging 
child,  and  asks  such  perfectly  delicious  fool  ques- 
tions. They  just  seem  to  melt  in  her  mouth." 

"Especially  when  she  pouts,"  interposed  Julia. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  she  pout?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Hamersley.  "Annie  has  the  lips  of  a 
cherub." 

"But  I  should  have  thought  Miss  Whitney  de- 
signed by  nature  for  a  man  of — well,  very  large 
means,"  ventured  More. 

"Every  Western  man  is  potentially  a  million- 
aire, isn't  he?"  asked  Mrs.  Hamersley. 

"And  whatever  Annie  may  be  designed  for,  she 
isn't  designing — at  least,  not  all  of  the  time,"  de- 
clared Julia. 

"Certainly  not,"  observed  her  brother;  "Annie, 


Merrilie  Dawes 

whatever  she  may  pretend,  has  a  vein  of  ro- 
mance." 

"Like  Merrilie  Dawes,"  suggested  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley. 

Drake  jumped  a  little  in  his  chair.  "Like  Mer- 
rilie!" he  remonstrated,  opening  his  eyes. 

"Merrilie  is  such  a  flirt,"  objected  Julia. 

Mrs.  Hamersley  turned  the  accusation  to  her 
purpose.  "She  wouldn't  flirt  if  she  hadn't  a  vein 
of  romance." 

"But  Merrilie  flirts  differently,"  contended 
Drake.  "She  won't  flirt  with  anybody  she  knows 
she  can  have." 

"The  more  romance  we  have,  the  more  we  strive 
for  the  unattainable,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hamersley. 

Drake  shook  his  head.  "Just  the  same,  Mer- 
rilie is  the  last  girl  in  New  York  I  should  call 
romantic!" 

Mrs.  Hamersley  stuck  to  her  point.  "I  said 
she  had  a  vein  of  romance.  But  I  never  could  get 
you  to  see  it,  Harry." 

"There  isn't  any  to  see.  Merrilie  Dawes,"  de- 
clared Drake,  "is  a  totally  different  proposition 
from  Annie  Whitney." 

"She  is  and  she  isn't.  Annie  is  a  little  lighter- 
hearted,  gayer  perhaps.  Merrilie  is  farther- 
sighted.  She  has  her  father's  way  of  seeing  things. 
But  that  doesn't  exclude  the  romantic.  Every 

9 


Merrilie  Dawes 

woman  is  romantic.  Isn't  that  true,  Mr.  Spru- 
ance?" 

Spruance  answered  vaguely.  "Who  knows 
anything  about  a  woman?  Merrilie  is  like  every 
other  woman — a  bundle  of  contradictions.  She 
is  clear-headed.  And  she  is  hard-headed.  She 
has  plenty  of  sense — and  in  some  things  she  is  as 
reckless  as  a  flying-machine  man." 

"I  remember  Merrilie  used  to  tumble  off  the 
fence  regularly  when  she  was  four  years  old,"  said 
Mrs.  Hamersley  reminiscently,  "in  spite  of  her 
nurses  and  governesses;  and  that  iron  fence  was 
no  joke,  you  know.  It  is  standing  yet." 

Amos  Hamersley,  tall,  stooping,  and  quick  in 
movement,  came  forward  from  the  observation- 
room  with  the  banker  Benedict  Havens.  Ham- 
ersley's  rather  deep-set  eyes  and  questioning  man- 
ner were  habitually  committed  to  suspicion.  He 
was  unfeeling  in  manner  and  earnest,  even  vigor- 
ous, in  contradiction.  But  his  wife  professed  not 
to  be  afraid  of  him. 

"It  must  be  a  good  many  years  since  Merrilie 
climbed  fences,"  observed  Julia;  "neither  she  nor 
Annie  is  so  killing  young." 

"The  two  girls  are  distant  cousins,  aren't  they?" 
asked  Spruance. 

"Only  by  a  sort  of  family  courtesy,"  explained 
Mrs.  Hamersley.  "Mrs.  Whitney  and  Mrs.  Dawes 

10 


Merrilie  Dawes 

were  brought  up  as  foster-sisters — there's  no  blood 
relationship." 

"Well,  Annie  must  be  twenty-three  by  this 
time,"  persisted  Julia,  "and  Merrilie  is  at  least 
five  years  older." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Hamersley,  motion- 
ing Havens  to  a  seat;  and  the  tone  of  his  inquiry 
promised  objection.  "Merrilie  Dawes  twenty- 
eight?"  he  echoed.  "Nothing  of  the  sort.  She 
is  twenty-five." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  intervened.  "Or  is  it  twenty- 
six?" 

"Twenty-six!"  repeated  her  husband  with  the 
distant  thunder  in  his  tones  that  was  familiar 
when  he  was  bargaining  for  a  railroad.  "Noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  Why,  Kate,  the  girl  is  exactly 
Madge's  age." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  nodded  assent.  "I  believe 
you  are  right — it  is  twenty-five." 

"Why  age  Merrilie  prematurely?"  asked  Spru- 
ance. 

"Why,  indeed,  poor  child?"  laughed  Julia. 

"And  why  call  Merrilie  a  poor  child?"  de- 
manded Hamersley  with  continued  vigor. 

"Because  Merrilie  is  weighted  down  with  re- 
sponsibilities," answered  Julia  Robbins,  imitating, 
undismayed,  the  hammering  emphasis  of  her  host. 
"Merrilie  has  always  seemed  older  than  she  is. 

ii 


Merrilie  Dawes 

And  so  alone;  none  of  kith  or  kin  except  that  ter- 
magant old  aunt  of  hers.  I  remember  Merrilie's 
saying  once  to  father:  'Oh,  but  I'm  sick  of  being 
an  estate!'  It  was  pathetic,  if  you  could  only 
forget  that  every  one  is  just  dying  to  relieve  her 
of  her  burden  of  affluence." 

"She  must  be  growing  incredibly  wealthy,  isn't 
she,  Mr.  Havens?"  asked  Mrs.  Hamersley,  con- 
fident of  annoying  Julia  and  secure  in  Amos's  own 
monetary  pre-eminence. 

Havens  took  a  moment  to  consider.  As  presi- 
dent, within  a  few  years,  of  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant Wall  Street  banks,  his  opinion  had  come 
to  be  esteemed  of  value  on  any  topic  of  American 
gossip.  "No  doubt,"  he  said  deferentially,  "your 
husband  is  better  qualified  to  speak  on  that  sub- 
ject than  I  am.  But  I  suppose  the  income  of  the 
Dawes  estate  to-day  must  be  equal  to  the  income 
of  a  pretty  fair-sized  railroad." 

"  It  must  be  larger  than  the  income  of  any  of 
Amos's  roads,"  observed  Mrs.  Hamersley  lazily. 
"Otherwise,  Merrilie  couldn't  dress  herself." 


12 


CHAPTER  II 

WITH  her  words  Mrs.  Hamersley  looked  re- 
proachfully at  her  husband.     Amos,  who 
had  begun  a  cigar,  benevolently  ignored  her  at- 
tempt to  discredit  him. 

Arthur  More  took  up  the  topic  from  another 
angle.  "It  is  getting  to  be  an  interesting  question 
where  this  sort  of  thing  is  going  to  end,"  he  sug- 
gested. "When  one  man,  and  he  by  no  means  the 
most  widely  known  of  our  men  of  wealth,  can  ac- 
cumulate an  estate  as  large  as  that  of  Richard 
Dawes,  people  will  soon  be  asking  what  we  are 
coming  to." 

The  subject  engaged  Havens.  "They  are  ask- 
ing it  now,"  he  declared  unhesitatingly.  "But  I 
never  expect  to  see  another  estate  like  that  of 
Richard  Dawes  probated  in  this  country." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  More. 

"I  think  Dawes  represented  the  period  of  cleav- 
age in  our  thought  between  old  conceptions  of 
great  wealth  and  new.  Wealth,  properly  speak- 
ing, is  not  a  personal  estate,  and  shouldn't  be 
considered  as  such — it  is  a  civic  responsibility." 

Spruance  started  almost  violently. 
13 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Havens  whirled  on  him  like  a  flash.  "Oh,  you 
will  come  to  it.  You'll  come  to  it.  Wall  Street 
as  well  as  the  rest  of  us  will  soon  have  to  reckon 
with  what  this  country  is  facing." 

Spruance  looked  up,  surprised.  "Excuse  me, 
Havens.  I  was  looking  at  More's  hand.  What 
is  it — hearts,  More?" 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Havens,"  interposed  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley  sympathetically.  "You  can't  expect  to 
convert  these  down-town  cynics.  Go  on." 

"Our  philanthropists,  our  public  men,  our 
thinking  men,  at  least,  understand  this,"  continued 
Havens,  his  combativeness  aroused.  "And  / 
agree  with  the  men  who  to-day  are  endowing  our 
institutions  of  learning,  our  libraries,  our  hos- 
pitals, our  foundations  for  research,"  he  recited 
rapidly,  "that  before  long  it  will  be  considered  a 
disgrace  to  leave  a  great  estate."  He  rose  with 
his  declaration  as  if  to  go  and  leave  only  the 
weight  of  his  words  behind. 

"Don't  run  away,"  said  Hamersley. 

"I  want  to  look  over  Adrane's  report  on  your 
Mississippi  Valley  line,"  explained  Havens,  with- 
out dropping  his  tone  of  defiance.  Then  he  drew 
himself  up.  "All  that  I  contend  for,"  he  resumed, 
returning  to  his  subject,  "is  that  a  man  should 
accomplish  his  philanthropies  while  he  is  still 
alive."  He  shot  a  contemptuous  glance  at  Spru- 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ance  and  More.  They  were  not  great  principals 
in  any  game. 

Mrs.  Hamersley  looked  at  Havens  in  immedi- 
ate assent:  "That  is  the  only  hope  Amos  can 
ever  have  of  a  large  funeral,"  she  declared,  "and 
it  certainly  is  the  most  satisfying  way  of  adver- 
tising your  philanthropies.  I  tell  Amos  so  con- 
tinually, but  he  won't  listen.  I  want  him  to 
found  at  least  a  refuge  for  broken-down  railroad 
owners — we  might  get  into  such  an  asylum  our- 
selves for  our  old  age." 

"The  difficulty  is,"  persisted  Havens,  ignoring 
with  a  more  tolerant  humor  Mrs.  Hamersley's 
pleasantries,  "these  selfish  dispositions  usually  de- 
feat themselves.  Fancy  leaving  an  estate  like  the 
Dawes  estate  to  an  only  daughter!"  David  Spru- 
ance's  neck  reddened  a  little.  "The  almost  in- 
variable outcome,"  insisted  Havens  with  con- 
tinued emphasis,  "is  a  foreign  marriage,  a  cad  of  a 
husband — and  a  smash-up." 

"Merrilie  Dawes,"  interposed  Spruance  harshly, 
"won't  marry  a  cad." 

"Don't  imagine  I  speak  of  individuals " 

"You  imply  them,"  growled  Spruance. 

"Merrilie  Dawes  happens  to  be  a  girl  of  unusual 
character.  But  what  I  have  said  is  unfortunately 
notorious,"  exclaimed  Havens,  and  without  wait- 
ing for  a  rejoinder  he  walked  into  the  forward  car. 

15 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Everybody,  at  one  time  or  another,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Hamersley,  "seems  worried  about 
whom  Merrilie  will  marry." 

"Except  Merrilie  herself,"  said  Spruance,  irri- 
tably. "She  doesn't  appear  to  be  losing  any  sleep 
over  it." 

With  the  conclusion  of  the  game,  Drake  and 
More  went  back  to  smoke.  Julia  Robbins  ques- 
tioned Mrs.  Hamersley.  "When  is  Merrilie  to 
be  at  home?" 

"She  was  due  yesterday.  I  expect  her  to  join 
us  at  Crossrips,  you  know.  And  the  only  way  to 
secure  her  is  to  kidnap  her  the  moment  she  lands 
from  the  steamer.  The  yacht  was  waiting  for 
her  all  day  yesterday." 

"And  do  you  turn  everything  over  to  her 
while  she  is  here?"  asked  Julia  of  Spruance. 

"Everything  was  turned  over  to  her  a  year 
ago,  under  her  father's  will." 

"Dear  me,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hamersley,  "that's 
so,  isn't  it?  Merrilie  will  really  have  to  join  the 
ranks  of  the  persecuted  financiers.  She  deserves 
a  better  fate.  David,  you  will  have  to  advise 
her." 

"Merrilie  won't  need  me.  Havens  will  supply 
her  with  advice,"  said  Spruance.  "All  she  need 
do  is  to  turn  her  affairs  over  to  his  new  trust 
company." 

16 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"But,  Mr.  Spruance,"  asked  Julia,  "how  did 
Mr.  Havens  get  to  be  president  of  the  Atlantic 
National  when  the  Dawes  estate  is  the  largest 
stockholder,  and  Merrilie  doesn't  like  him?" 

"Merrilie  doesn't  dislike  him,  I  fancy." 

"She  does.  She  told  me  so.  I  think  he  tried 
to  court  Merrilie — before  he  married  Annie's  sis- 
ter, Fanny  Whitney." 

Spruance  proceeded  to  answer  her  first  question. 

"Carlos  Whitney,  Annie's  father,  the  old  presi- 
dent of  the  bank,  was  put  in  by  Richard  Dawes. 
You  know  he  died  suddenly.  Merrilie  was  in 
Paris.  I  imagine  she  let  the  choice  go  by  default. 
At  least,  she  didn't  actively  oppose  Havens — he 
was  the  bank's  counsel  at  that  time  and  had  just 
married  one  of  the  Whitney  girls.  He  scared  some 
of  the  stockholders  into  thinking  immediate  action 
to  fill  the  vacancy  was  necessary." 

"They  ought  to  have  made  you  president, 
David,"  suggested  Mrs.  Hamersley. 

"I'm  not  built  for  a  pillar  of  light,"  returned 
Spruance  indifferently. 

"Mr.  Havens  must  have  felt  stung  when  he 
found  his  father-in-law  hadn't  left  anything,"  said 
Julia. 

"But  he  did  leave  something,"  amended  Mrs. 
Hamersley.  "He  left  Belle  Whitney,  his  wife,  and 
she  would  be  an  asset  in  any  estate;  one  daugh- 
ter to  Mr.  Havens,  a  very  successful  man,  and 


Merrilie  Dawes 

one  now  to  Mr.  Adrane,  the  newest  luminary  on 
the  industrial  horizon!" 

"It's  mean  to  talk  in  this  way  about  Havens," 
remarked  Spruance.  "I  can't  tell  why  I  don't 
like  him.  Jealousy,  no  doubt." 

"No  doubt,"  assented  Mrs.  Hamersley.  "Suc- 
cess is  the  only  thing  there  is  any  excuse  for  being 
jealous  of.  It  is  only  a  few  years  ago  that  Mr. 
Havens  was  Amos's  lawyer,  isn't  it?  Did  any 
one  ever  see  anything  like  the  rise  of  some  men, 
nowadays?  My  father,"  she  continued,  "used 
to  say  a  man  ought  to  know  all  about  a  business 
before  he  tried  to  run  it.  How  the  dear  man 
would  turn  in  his  grave  to  see  the  lawyers  man- 
aging everything  now  except  the  law  business. 
Why  don't  you  get  hold  of  a  great  law  firm  and 
run  it?"  she  demanded  peremptorily  of  Spruance. 

"I'm  not  a  lawyer." 

"But  if  the  lawyers  are  going  to  run  the  insur- 
ance companies  and  manufacturing  concerns  and 
banks  and  everything,  why  wouldn't  it  be  a  good 
idea  for  some  one  to  run  their  business  awhile? 
Do  you  suppose  Merrilie  will  go  to  Mr.  Havens 
with  her  estate  affairs?" 

"I  should  be  mean  enough  to  say,  I  hope  not," 
confessed  Spruance,  still  indifferent,  "but  he  will 
get  her  if  he  can.  Mrs.  Whitney  will  throw  her 
influence  that  way,  of  course." 

Adrane's  report,  produced  by  Havens,  was  un- 
18 


Merrilie  Dawes 

der  discussion  a  few  moments  later  among  Ham- 
ersley's  associates  whom  More  and  Drake  had 
joined  in  the  directors'  car.  These  were  three 
men:  Henry  Benjamin,  a  banker  and  broker; 
Henry  T.  Kneeland,  a  Standard  Oil  man  and 
partner  of  Arthur  More;  and  Willis  McCrea,  a 
sugar  refiner,  of  Kimberlys  &  Company.  These 
business  associates  were  to  be  sent  back  to  New 
York  in  Mr.  Hamersley's  car  from  Boston,  whence 
Mrs.  Hamersley  with  her  guests  was  to  proceed 
to  Woods  Hole  to  meet  her  yacht  for  the  run  to 
Crossrips  Island. 

Opposition  to  the  tenor  of  Adrane's  suggestions 
concerning  the  western  railroad,  then  in  difficulties 
in  the  Mississippi  valley,  arose  in  the  discussion 
at  once.  Havens  defended  the  report.  He  ar- 
gued with  McCrea  and  Drake.  "Everything  de- 
pends, in  a  tangle  of  this  kind,  on  the  character 
and  capacity  of  the  man  behind  the  report. 
Adrane,"  he  asserted  with  his  accustomed  energy, 
"is  the  best  authority  in  this  country  in  questions 
of  western  railroad  strategy.  He  has  demon- 
strated his  ability  again  and  again.  His  line  down 
the  west  bank  of  the  river  is  the  finest  thing  yet 
done  in  the  middle  West — its  success  is  no  longer 
a  subject  of  dispute.  As  a  constructionist  I  put 
Adrane  in  the  very  front  rank  of  American  en- 
gineers. There  are  no  two  ways  about  it,  gentle- 
men, the  Mississippi  bridge  alone 

19 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Henry  Benjamin,  whose  bright  eyes  were  always 
wide  open,  turned  them  slowly  on  the  banker 
and  his  enthusiasm. 

"Havens!"  he  remonstrated,  adjusting  his  spec- 
tacles calmly.  "Are  you  talking  about  John 
Adrane  or  Michael  Angelo?" 

Havens,  whose  vigor  knew  no  restraint,  shook 
his  finger  at  the  sceptic:  "Every  word  true,  Ben- 
jamin— every  word." 

"I  hope  it  is  every  word  true,"  assented  Benja- 
min, "but  unless  you  want  to  blast  the  man's 
fortunes,  Havens,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  be  a 
little  more  moderate,  eh?" 

"If  Adrane  hadn't  built  his  road  down  the  west 
bank  of  the  river,  our  road  down  the  east 
bank  wouldn't  be  in  a  receiver's  hands,"  objected 
McCrea . 

Havens  continued  to  hammer  away:  "That  is 
exactly  why  Adrane's  report  is  of  value,"  he  in- 
sisted. "He  knows  the  whole  situation.  His 
judgment  is  the  best,  his  integrity  I  have  never 
heard  questioned.  I  would  rather  have  Adrane's 
views  on  the  reorganization  than  those  of  all  the 
Eastern  men  you  could  send  out  there." 

At  the  South  Station,  Annie  Whitney  with  her 
mother  and  Adrane  awaited  the  Crossrips  party. 
Mrs.  Hamersley,  as  the  young  couple  greeted  her, 

20 


Merrilie  Dawes 

mentally  decided  they  would  do.  Annie  Whitney 
she  knew  very  well. 

The  girl  Adrane  had  chosen  was  more  than 
ordinarily  attractive,  the  men  thought.  She  had 
abundance  of  life  and  spirits  in  her  rather  petite 
make-up.  Annie's  laugh  rippled  easily  among 
those  who  surrounded  her.  She  never  missed 
any  point  in  the  conversation;  or  if  she  did  miss 
it  no  one  was  the  wiser.  For  Annie  could  look 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  group  around  her 
with  so  much  sprightliness  and  such  humor  in 
her  eyes  and  respond  with  such  quick  appre- 
ciation in  a  laugh  to  any  one's  comment,  that 
she  was  always  popular.  With  a  perfect  com- 
plexion; blue  eyes,  clear  and  well-set,  and  a  par- 
ticularly engaging  manner,  Annie  Whitney  made 
a  charming  feminine  appeal.  Adrane,  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley  knew  only  as  a  young  man  who  had  once 
offered  to  Amos  for  a  song  a  railroad  that  he 
afterward  made  him  pay  an  astonishing  price 
for. 

While  Annie  and  her  mother  talked  to  Mr. 
Hamersley,  Adrane  joined  the  men,  who  inspected 
him  with  varying  degrees  of  curiosity.  Mrs. 
Hamersley,  always  more  interested  in  men  than 
in  women,  noticed  the  prudent  scepticism  of 
More's  manner  toward  the  newcomer,  the  un- 
affected indifference  of  Spruance,  the  fidgety 

21 


Merrilie  Dawes 

efforts  of  Harry  Drake  to  ignore  him;  and  over- 
bearing all  in  the  scene,  the  aggressive  eye-glasses 
of  Havens  and  his  cordiality  in  championing 
Adrane  and  warming  up  the  reserved  atmosphere 
of  his  companions. 

Adrane  was  taller  than  the  men  about  him,  but 
his  sloping  shoulders  cost  him  the  advantage  of 
his  height.  They  conveyed  an  impression  of 
amiability  rather  than  severity,  and  when  he  said 
good-by  to  the  New  Yorkers,  whose  car  had  been 
attached  to  an  outgoing  express  train,  he  left 
only  the  impression  of  a  brown-skinned  and  suc- 
cessful but  familiar  type  of  the  man  of  affairs, 
who  always  has  something  good  to  offer  in  an  in- 
vestment and  always  needs  round  sums  of  money. 
It  is  certain  that  these  characteristics  were  Ad- 
rane's  and  it  was  also  apparent  that  he  had  strong 
sponsors  for  some  of  his  undertakings.  Even  his 
engagement  to  Annie  Whitney  corroborated  these 
impressions  of  success.  Henry  Benjamin  was 
smoking  out  on  the  observation  platform  with 
Kneeland  as  their  car  rolled  out  of  the  station. 
Mrs.  Hamersley  surrounded  by  her  Crossrips  cir- 
cle stood  on  the  platform  of  her  own  car. 

A  truck  piled  high  with  baggage  and  attended  by 
several  porters  was  pulled  in  haste  past  Ben- 
jamin and  Kneeland — and  a  second  truck  with 
more  of  the  same  baggage  was  hurried  after  the 

22 


Merrilie  Dawes 

first.  The  trunks  of  many  shapes  and  sizes,  but 
all  of  one  color  and  all  marked  with  the  same 
initials  and  "New  York,"  attracted  Benjamin's 
eye.  A  baggageman,  accompanied  by  a  foreign- 
looking  man  who  hobbled  stiffly  after  him,  hurried 
down  the  platform  with  a  handful  of  transfer 
checks,  distributed  bunches  of  them  to  the  por- 
ters, and  all  hands  began  rapidly  to  recheck  the 
two  truck-loads  while  the  foreigner,  in  a  soft  hat, 
loose  overcoat,  and  with  yellow  gloves,  looked  on 
and  repeated  his  injunction  that  the  trunks  must 
go  on  the  Wood's  Hole  special.  "Now,  whose 
baggage  should  this  be,  More?"  demanded  Ben- 
jamin, as  Harry  Drake  coming  up  greeted  the 
foreigner.  "Is  Mrs.  Hamersley  entertaining  the 
foreign  ambassadors  at  Crossrips?" 

"No,  Benjamin,"  answered  More,  watching 
the  scene  before  them  with  a  traveller's  interest. 
"This  baggage  is  evidently  feminine.  Don't  you 
see  the  hat-trunks?  And  everything  on  both 
trucks  is  blue-black.  From  the  markings,  I  fancy 
this  luggage  belongs  to  Miss  Merrilie  Dawes.  The 
man,  I  imagine,  is  her  courier." 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  HAMERSLEY'S  arrangements  had  not 
miscarried,  and  her  yacht,  the  Divide,  lay 
anchored  off  Wood's  Hole  when  the  train  arrived 
from  Boston. 

A  few  moments  later,  with  Harry  Drake  at  her 
side  twirling  her  parasol,  Merrilie  Dawes  stood 
in  the  sunshine  on  the  deck.  She  had  come  up 
during  the  night  from  New  York  with  her  Aunt 
Jane,  Mrs.  Havens,  and  Mrs.  Hamersley's  secre- 
tary, who  had  met  Merrilie  at  the  steamer.  When 
the  train  bringing  the  Hamersley  car  reached 
the  pier,  Drake  had  found  a  little  launch  and 
come  off  ahead  of  the  others  to  greet  Merrilie. 

She  met  Drake  with  the  familiar  cordiality  of 
an  old  friend,  but  when  they  sat  apart  from  the 
others  and  he  began  to  ask  questions,  Merrilie 
gave  him  scant  satisfaction.  Her  escapes  were 
good-natured,  but  they  were  constant.  Drake, 
simulating  hopelessness,  frowned  and  shook  his 
head:  "The  same  evasive  Merrilie,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Merrilie  laughed  unsympathetically:  "Harry, 
24 


Merrilie  Dawes 

do  you  know  you  always  chafe  a  little  when  you 
are  crossed?" 

"You  never  can  be  serious,"  complained  Drake 
nervously. 

Merrilie  seemed  indifferent  to  his  annoyance: 
"There's  nothing  to  be  serious  over,  Harry.  What 
an  idea!"  she  remonstrated.  "To  ask  me  flatly, 
the  very  first  minute,  whether  I'm  engaged!  I 
could  be  serious  if  there  were  anything  to  be  seri- 
ous about.  But  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Harry — 
how  did  you  happen  to  let  Annie  Whitney  be 
stolen  away  from  you  right  under  your  eyes?" 

Drake  made  a  wry  face:  "Do  you  remember 
what  your  grandmother  used  to  say?  *  Far-off 
cows  have  long  horns.'  I  couldn't  hold  Annie  a  min- 
ute after  she  saw  Adrane.  You  haven't  met  him." 

"No,  and  to  tell  the  truth,"  confessed  Merrilie, 
"I  am  all  curiosity  myself.  What's  he  like, 
Harry?" 

Drake  grimaced  again  and  hung  his  head: 
"Don't  ask  me.  Havens  calls  him  deep,"  he 
continued  in  his  quick,  cryptic  manner.  "I  sup- 
pose that's  because  he  doesn't  talk." 

"I  hate  people  that  don't  talk,"  declared  Mer- 
rilie frankly;  "women,  especially.  And  my  ex- 
perience is,  that  every  one  of  these  glum  men 
can  talk  fast  enough  when  he  wants  to." 

Drake  was  looking  across  the  water:  "Here 
25 


Merrilie  Dawes 

they  come.  Try  out  Adrane  now,  Merrilie.  You 
can  make  him  talk  if  anybody  can." 

From  the  pier,  the  tender  was  rapidly  approach- 
ing with  Mrs.  Hamersley's  party.  Annie  Whit- 
ney and  Adrane  sat  toward  the  bow  and  Annie 
waved  her  hand  eagerly  as  she  distinguished  Mer- 
rilie with  Drake  at  the  rail.  To  Adrane,  as  the 
tender  drew  alongside,  Merrilie  appeared  unex- 
pectedly slight.  Her  figure  was  delicate,  her  hat 
small,  her  costume  simple,  and  her  hair  drawn  low 
on  her  forehead  as  if  to  defend  her  eyes. 

"How  French  she  grows,"  complained  Julia 
Robbins  at  Adrane's  side.  Merrilie,  in  light, 
clear,  and  rather  high  tones,  was  calling  down 
to  Annie.  Adrane  would  almost  have  said  it  was 
Annie's  voice.  He  looked  on  a  moment  later 
while  Annie  embraced  and  kissed  her  foster-cousin. 
The  two  were  really  like  enough,  he  thought,  to 
be  sisters.  Both,  it  happened,  wore  white,  both 
were  light-haired  and  both  blue-eyed.  But  Mer- 
rilie's  face  seemed  very  slender.  Her  cheeks  fell 
from  slight  temples  and  almost  directly  to  a  mouth 
equally  delicate,  and  a  white,  transparent  skin 
added  to  the  sensitive  air  of  her  face.  Her  eyes 
really  dominated  her  features.  They  had  sweet- 
ness of  appeal  without  any  weakness  of  uncer- 
tainty, and  their  note  of  frankness  was  strength- 
ened and  restrained  by  a  well-moulded  nose. 

26 


Merrilie  Dawes 

It  was  as  Adrane  was  brought  forward  to  be 
introduced  that  he  noticed  a  tinge  of  pink  creep- 
ing into  her  upper  cheeks. 

"  This,"  she  declared,  looking  at  him,  "is  what 
I  have  been  waiting  for!"  She  caught  Annie's 
arm  as  if  to  gain  courage.  "Mr.  Adrane,"  she 
exclaimed — her  eyes  still  on  him  but  her  words 
for  Annie — "seems  very  worthy  of  his  good  for- 
tune." She  turned  swiftly  to  Annie  herself.  "Do 
you  mind,  if  I  congratulate  you  both,  now,  here, 
before  all  the  world  ? " 

Adrane,  arrested  at  once,  tried  to  talk  to  her, 
but  the  others  took  her  attention.  She  did 
not,  however,  lose  sight  of  Adrane;  and  in  a 
moment  made  for  him  the  opening  he  was  un- 
able to  secure.  "It  almost  seems,  Mr.  Adrane, 
as  if  we  had  met  before,"  she  ventured,  breaking 
from  several  questions  put  to  her  at  once.  Adrane 
responded  with  the  eagerness  of  one  slow  of  ex- 
pression. "That's  what  I  wanted  to  suggest, 
Miss  Dawes.  It  couldn't  be,  could  it?  But  I 
should  know  you  from  your  portrait." 

"Pray,  what  portrait?"  demanded  Merrilie, giv- 
ing him  the  floor  against  others  talking  faster 
than  he. 

"One  in  which  you  are  standing  between  por- 
tieres— one  of  them  clasped  in  your  hand;  and  an 

expression  of  expectancy  in  your  eyes " 

27 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane,  as  if  conscious  the  others  were  listen- 
ing, paused.  Merrilie's  eyes  invited  him  to  go 
on:  "As  if  you  were  looking,"  he  continued  more 
boldly,  "into  the  room  at  some  one  not  seen  in 
the  picture." 

"Oh,  that's  Mrs.  Hamersley's  portrait,"  in- 
terposed Annie. 

"Of  course,"  assented  Merrilie,  "the  one  that 
hangs  in  the  library  with  Madge's.  I  can't  recall 
the  expectancy,"  she  added,  speaking  swiftly, 
"but  I  remember  I  hated  the  gown  I  made  the 
first  sitting  in,  and  Mr.  Sargent  wouldn't  let  me 
change  it;  it  never  did  fit." 

"And  I  remember  the  expectancy,"  persisted 
Adrane,  "because  I  wondered  who  might  be  in 
the  room  with  you." 

Merrilie's  eyes  lighted:  "If  I  am  not  mistaken, 
it  was  Harry  Drake,"  she  asserted,  turning  to 
Drake  to  restore  him  to  the  conversation.  "He 
was  an  occasional  visitor  during  those  sittings,  and 
was  usually  saying  nice  things  to  Annie  while 
the  two  were  waiting  to  take  me  down-town." 

Drake  burst  into  a  laugh:  "I  never  could  have 
inspired  a  look  like  that."  To  ridicule  Adrane's 
description  he  shook  his  head  incredulously  and 
gave  a  disparaging  emphasis  to  the  last  word. 
"Must  have  been  some  one  else." 

"It's  of  no  consequence  who  it  was,"  declared 
28 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie.  "  Do  you  know  it's  two  years  since  we've 
seen  each  other?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Annie. 

"And  do  you  remember,"  returned  Annie, 
"at  Calais  you  said  you  were  never  coming  back 
to  America?" 

"Annie!"  remonstrated  Merrilie  with  spirit. 
"You  asked  me  when  I  was  coming  home  to  stay. 
I  told  you  I  didn't  know  and  you  said  if  you  were 
I,  you  would  never  come  back. "  Merrilie  raised 
her  hand  resentfully.  "Don't  you  make  me  out 
an  expatriate." 

"What  kind  of  a  trip  had  you  over?"  asked 
Mrs.  Whitney,  whose  voice  had  been  made 
high  by  a  slight  deafness.  "Mrs.  Hamersley  says 
it  was  rough." 

"Not  very;  but  some  of  us  were  poor  sailors. 
Ernesto  was  half  dead  with  rheumatism  when  we 
started.  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  got  to  Bos- 
ton with  the  trunks " 

"He  did,"  interposed  Drake.  "I  saw  and 
spoke  to  him.  You  should  have  sent  them  to 
New  Bedford." 

"Oh,  I  know,  Harry.  I'm  very  stupid.  Bi- 
anca,"  she  resumed,  "Ernesto's  wife — "  then 
parenthetically  to  Adrane,  and  adding  to  her 
words  a  leisurely,  sidewise  glance,  "poor  Ernesto 
is  severely  henpecked — has  wanted  for  years  to 
see  America.  And  this  seemed  her  opportunity 

29 


Merrilie  Dawes 

for  doing  so  without  expense — which  is  a  prime 
consideration  with  Bianca,  who  never  spends  a 
centime.  The  very  minute  we  set  foot  aboard 
ship,  Bianca  fell  seasick  and  never  left  her  cabin 
until  we  docked  in  Hoboken.  And  what  do  you 
suppose,  Annie,  she  lived  on,  the  entire  trip? 
Champagne  and  pickled  onions.  And  Ernesto 
spent  his  whole  time  waiting  on  Bianca!  He  did 
serve  a  few  dinners  for  us,  and  we  went  to  the 
dining-room  for  lunch.  And  Rose,"  Merrilie  lifted 
her  hands  in  pantomime  as  she  recalled  her  maid's 
plight.  "My  poor  Rose!  Of  all  the  demoralized, 
haggard,  seasick  creatures,  dainty,  fastidious 
Rose  was  for  one  dreadful  week  the  worst  ever. 
Annie,"  she  added  abruptly,  "you  haven't  writ- 
ten me  for  six  months.  Now  tell ,  me  what  you 
have  been  doing." 

Annie  looked  perfectly  happy  at  the  question: 
"Directly  after  the  holidays  we  went  South  and 
we've  been  back  only  a  few  weeks.  I  haven't 
been  doing  anything." 

Harry  Drake,  who  was  tall,  looked  over  at  Ad- 
rane.  "Then  somebody  else  must  have  been 
doing,"  he  put  in.  "This  thing  didn't  do  itself, 
did  it?" 

Merrilie  intervened.  "Oh,  I  don't  mean  that. 
How  did  you  spend  the  winter?" 

Annie  looked  mysteriously  wise  and  her  laugh 
30 


Merrilie  Dawes 

seemed  to  echo  something  pleasant  she  had  no 
mind  to  tell.  "John  plays  golf.  And  he  won  a 
cup,  Harry — did  he  tell  you?" 

While  Drake  listened  without  interest — not  to 
Annie  but  to  Mrs.  Whitney  concerning  the  de- 
tails of  Adrane's  trophy — Merrilie  turned  to  Ad- 
rane  himself.  "I  never  could  get  Annie  to  tell 
me  anything.  Evidently,  you  have  succeeded 
where  I  failed.  And  perhaps  you  will  inform 
me  what  Annie  has  been  doing." 

Annie  struck  her  hands  together.  "Merrilie, 
I  forgot!  We  did  do  something!  Mr.  Hamersley 
gave  us  this  yacht  for  a  trip  to  Panama — he 
wanted  John  to  see  the  work." 

Merrilie's  interest  waned  the  least  little  bit. 
"How  delightful!"  she  murmured. 

"But  we  never  got  there!"  laughed  Annie. 
"We  ran  into  one  storm  after  another.  Every 
one  fell  sick — it  was  dreadful.  The  Gulf  of  Mex- 
ico is  perfectly  horrid.  It's  a  wonder  we  ever  got 
back  alive.  John  can  tell  you." 

"No,"  protested  Drake,  "unless  engaged  people 
are  willing  to  hire  their  audience  they  shouldn't 
be  allowed  to  tell  their  story." 

"Oh,  was  that  when  it  happened!"  exclaimed 
Merrilie,  looking  with  a  fresh  interest  from  Adrane 
to  Annie. 

"Engaged  people,"  ventured  Adrane,  struggling 


Merrilie  Dawes 

with  a  flat  feeling,  "have  nothing  to  tell.  They 
are  necessarily  uninteresting." 

"I  know  of  no  reason  why  engaged  people 
shouldn't  be  interesting,"  declared  Merrilie  with 
positiveness.  She  held  her  sunshade,  laid  across 
her  lap,  in  her  two  hands. 

"Engaged  people,"  asserted  Annie,  "have  closed 
the  first  door  on  society." 

Harry  Drake  lowered  his  head.  "Do  they 
always  keep  it  tight  shut?" 

"Engagements,"  interposed  her  Aunt  Jane  sol- 
emnly, "are  not  as  serious  affairs  as  they  used 
to  be." 

Merrilie  held  her  ground.  "All  the  better  for 
the  interest.  Certainty  is  depressing.  On  that 
account  I  never  could  get  up  any  feeling  for 
arithmetic.  After  you  have  struggled  unendingly 
with  a  problem  the  answer  is  always  the  same! 
How  can  you  work  yourself  into  a  fever  over  two 
and  two  making  four?  If  they  made  something 
different  every  time " 

"Merrilie" — her  aunt  spoke  gravely — "you 
know  you  don't  think  in  that  way  about  engage- 
ments at  all.  You  are  talking  nonsense." 

"So  is  every  one  else,"  retorted  Merrilie. 

"What  does  she  really  think,  Aunt  Jane?"  de- 
manded Drake.  "Put  her  to  blush." 

"Merrilie,"  remarked  her  aunt,  stiffly  senten- 
32 


Merrilie  Dawes 

tious,  "thinks  an  engagement  to  marry  is  very 
sacred." 

"But  that's  wrong,"  declared  Drake.  "An  en- 
gagement is  only  a  try-out.  It's  to  give  people  a 
chance  to  change  their  minds.  Until  they  become 
engaged,  they  haven't  any  minds  to  change." 

"Just  the  same,  Harry,"  interposed  Merrilie, 
"they  shouldn't  change  them." 

Drake  affected  a  warning.  '  That  may  be  used 
against  you  some  time." 

"I  expect,"  responded  Merrilie  composedly, 
"if  I  ever  enter  into  an  engagement,  to  stick  to 
it.  I  shouldn't  change  my  mind." 

"But  the  man  might." 

She  only  frowned  quizzically.  "One  would 
hope,  of  course,  to  escape  such  a  man.  If  his 
word  were  no  better  than  that " 

"That's  just  the  point,"  persisted  Drake.  "If 
a  man's  word  isn't  good,  better  know  it  before  you 
marry  him." 

"  Better  know  it  before  you  are  engaged  to  him. 
However,  if  he  should  change  his  mind  I  should 
console  myself  with  despising  him,"  asserted  Mer- 
rilie, looking  calmly  out  to  sea.  The  yacht  had 
headed  east  and  the  deck  party  broke  up.  When 
Adrane  saw  Merrilie  again  toward  evening  she 
was  sitting  aft  with  Drake  watching  the  sunset. 
The  Divide  had  raised  Madaket  Head  light. 

33 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie,  walking  forward  with  the  two  men, 
pointed  the  lighthouse  out  to  Adrane.  "You've 
never  been  at  Crossrips?"  she  said. 

"Only  once,  to  see  Mr.  Hamersley  for  a  mo- 
ment. We  ran  over  in  the  night  and  back  again 
next  morning." 

"You  don't  know  Crossrips,  then.  There  is 
something  in  store  for  you.  My  first  walk  is 
always  to  the  Madaket  light.  We  call  that  our 
light  because  it's  on  our  side  the  island.  Mrs. 
Hamersley  says  Captain  Coffin  promises  a  good 
day  to-morrow." 


34 


CHAPTER  IV 

EVERY  island  has  a  charm.  Isolation  itself 
invites,  suggests  its  possible  mystery.  But 
the  island  of  the  sea  has  incomparably  more  to 
offer  than  its  inland  cousin.  The  moving  mys- 
teries of  the  sea  encompass  it,  its  eagerness  en- 
croaches upon  it,  its  angers  threaten  it.  Cross- 
rips,  crouching  in  the  winds  and  currents  of  a 
stormy  ocean,  is  without  the  bolder  scenery  of 
the  mainland.  With  a  scanty  and  reluctant  soil 
and  long  stretches  of  barren  moors,  it  lies  with 
white  bars  of  sand  shifting  in  the  cradle  of  the 
wind  and  the  wave. 

It  does  not  at  once  attract  the  eye.  And  those 
who,  like  Adrane,  see  the  island  for  the  first  time 
wonder  why  any  one  should  become  fond  of  it. 
At  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours  the  newcomer  is 
ready  to  leave.  But  at  the  end  of  a  week  he  is 
ready  to  stay  on.  To  summer  on  it  is  to  surren- 
der to  the  moors — not  really  barren,  but  covered 
with  groves  of  scrubby  pine,  patches  of  broom 
and  heather,  and  islands  of  wild  flowers.  The 
seeming  dead-levels  of  its  landscape  offer  suc- 
cessions of  hills  with  shrub-covered  slopes,  car- 

35 


Merrilie  Dawes 

peted  valleys,  a  depth  of  teeming  swamps,  the 
smell  of  aldered  streams,  the  surprise  of  fresh- 
water lakes.  An  ample  inner  harbor  shelters  the 
fishing  village  of  the  island — a  town  of  a  thou- 
sand people,  its  New  England  philosophy  reflected 
in  a  variety  of  small-town  church  spires.  The 
village  boasts,  too,  a  town  hall  with  a  tower  and 
a  clock.  It  possesses  traditions,  and  its  fisher- 
men have  manned  Nantucket  and  New  Bedford 
whalers.  Crossrips  is  the  very  sea  frontier  of  its 
rocky  mainland,  an  outpost  that  has  not  yet  sur- 
rendered to  the  gales  of  the  north  Atlantic,  and  it 
looks  with  condescension  on  its  westerly  neighbors. 

Outside  the  village  a  good  part  of  the  island 
is  included  in  the  Hamersley  estate.  Crossrips 
House  stands  on  the  summit  of  an  elevation  a  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  water.  Almost  natural  ter- 
races descending  from  the  house  to  the  pier  have 
been  made  good  use  of  by  the  gardeners,  and  the 
possibilities  of  the  ocean  climate  have  been  util- 
ized in  the  shrubs  and  vines  and  flowering  plants. 
Roses  and  geraniums  abound  in  their  season. 
English  ivy  grows  everywhere  and  hydrangeas, 
which  flourish  as  nowhere  else,  make  the  late  sum- 
mer brilliant.  A  garden  of  hydrangeas  leads  up 
to  the  wide,  flagged  terrace  on  which  the  house 
itself,  a  roomy  Italian  villa,  opens  toward  the  sea. 

The  following  morning  made  good  Mrs.  Ham- 
36 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ersley's  reckless  promise  of  a  fine  day.  Merrilie 
appeared  for  luncheon  and  announced  her  in- 
tended walk  to  Madaket  Head.  Drake,  Adrane, 
and  Annie  went  with  her.  Their  path  lay  across 
the  golf  grounds  where  Amos  Hamersley  was  play- 
ing Havens.  The  scant,  close-cropped  turf  of  the 
fair  greens  made  fine  walking  and  the  steeply  roll- 
ing hills  afforded  exercise.  At  the  tenth  tee, 
which  crowned  the  highest  hill  south  of  the  head, 
the  party  sat  down  under  a \clump  of  young 
elms.  The  sun  was  bright  in  the  west  wind  that 
ruffled  the  sea.  Coastwise  sail  dotted  the  horizon. 
Far  to  the  south,  outside  the  shoals,  a  fleet  of 
torpedo-boats  was  manoeuvring. 

"Merrilie,"  said  Annie  abruptly,  "I  want  you 
to  help  me  work  out  a  color  scheme  for  John's 
new  car  to-night." 

Adrane  interposed.  "Don't  understand  from 
that  that  I've  ever  had  a  car.  I  haven't." 

Annie  persisted.  "But  he's  a  railroad  president 
now." 

"Of  a  very  modest  line,"  amended  Adrane. 

"And  he  must  have  a  car  of  his  own,  of  course," 
added  Annie.  "John  is  diffident." 

"I  hope  you'll  give  us  all  a  ride,  Mr.  Adrane," 
suggested  Merrilie.  "When  is  it  to  be  ready?" 

Adrane  laughed.  "As  yet  I  have  only  asked 
for  one." 

37 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"But  you  are  sure  to  get  it,"  protested  Annie 
impulsively. 

"I  can't  say  that  the  directors  seem  carried 
away  by  the  suggestion,"  commented  Adrane. 

"Then  they  should  be  convinced  of  the  impor- 
tance of  it,"  decided  Merrilie  promptly.  "Have 
they  been  apprised  of  your  color  scheme,  An- 
nie?" 

Annie  pouted.     "Not  yet." 

"How,  then,  could  they  realize  their  responsi- 
bility?" demanded  Merrilie.  "Let  us  have  the 
scheme." 

"Well,"  began  Annie  with  more  confidence, 
"my  idea  is  a  combination  of  browns." 

"Good!" 

"The  mahogany  could  be  finished  in  an  antique 
brown " 

"Though  I  never  saw  it  done,"  interjected 
Merrilie. 

"Why,  just  the  plain  old  tone  of  John's  hat." 
Annie  pointed  patiently  with  her  parasol  at  her 
fiance. 

Adrane  tried  to  look  unconcerned  as  Merrilie 
scrutinized  his  hat.  "Then,  for  the  upholstery," 
continued  Annie,  "an  uncut  velvet  in  otter- 
brown."  Merrilie  nodded.  "And  a  russet  car- 
peting with  just  a  fleck  of  cream." 

"Lovely!"  exclaimed  Merrilie.  "No  board  of 
38 


Merrilie  Dawes 

directors  could  say  no  to  that.    If  they  should — " 
She  tossed  her  head.     "To  the  lions!" 

"Merrilie  talks  about  a  board  of  directors  as 
if  they  were  a  crate  of  rabbits,"  grinned  Drake. 

"I  think,"  observed  Merrilie  coldly,  "I  share 
my  father's  prejudice  against  directors." 

"You  mean  you  like  to  have  your  own  way," 
retorted  Drake. 

"Who  doesn't?"  asked  Merrilie  innocently. 
"Annie  and  I  were  noted  for  that  even  as  infants. 
Kennedy,  our  old  butler,"  she  explained  to  Ad- 
rane,  "used  to  call  us  'Tis  Too  and  Tisn't  Either.' 
We  quarrelled  continually." 

"Because  you  were  always  getting  me  into  a 
scrape,"  declared  Annie.  "Even  poor  Edith  could 
never  have  her  way.  When  she  wanted  pistache 
ice-cream  Merrilie  used  to  make  her  eat  vanilla. 
You  did  do  her  a  good  turn,  when  she  wanted 
to  get  married,  though,"  conceded  Annie.  "Your 
father  was  pretty  bitter  over  her  marrying  an 
Italian." 

"Edith,"  explained  Merrilie  to  Adrane  as  she 
rose  to  lead  the  way  again  across  the  fields,  "is 
my  half-sister,  my  mother's  daughter.  Father 
had  no  objection  in  the  world  to  Guido.  He  was 
opposed  to  all  foreign  marriages.  Isn't  such  a 
feeling  ridiculous  when  America  is  a  byword  for 
frivolous  marriages?"  Merrilie  directed  her  ques- 
tion toward  Adrane. 

39 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Drake  dug  his  stick  resentfully  into  the  sand. 
"It's  plain  whither  Merrilie  is  drifting,"  he  de- 
clared with  conviction,  "when  she  alienates  her- 
self for  two  years  at  a  time  from  her  native  land 
and  gibes  at  our  most  sacred  institution." 

"At  your  attitude  toward  your  most  sacred  in- 
stitution," corrected  Merrilie. 

"Any  way  you  choose  to  put  it,"  persisted 
Drake,  "she  is  certain  to  end  by " 

"Don't  be  afraid  to  say  it,"  interposed  Annie — 
"marrying  a  foreigner.  I  accuse  her  of  it." 

Merrilie,  without  much  concern,  appealed  to 
Adrane.  She  asked  him  not  to  admit  this  to  be 
the  foregone  conclusion  that  Annie  and  Drake 
would  make  it.  "I  should  say  such,  at  least,  is 
the  logical  conclusion,"  remarked  Adrane  unsym- 
pathetically. 

"But,"  protested  Merrilie,  awakening  a  little, 
"you  don't  want  a  woman  to  be  logical,  do  you? 
Can't  I  do  some  of  these  dreadful  things  Harry 
accuses  me  of  without  pursuing  my  views  to  the 
bitter  end?" 

"A  foreign  marriage  for  an  American  girl  is 
usually,  I  should  imagine,  a  bitter  end,"  returned 
Adrane. 

Merrilie  flushed.  "Oh,  Mr.  Adrane,  don't  tell 
me  that  you  share  the  silly  prejudice  against  in- 
ternational marriages!" 

"Why,  John" — Annie  laughed  to  set  Adrane 
40 


Merrilie  Dawes 

right — "you  are  forgetting  you've  just  been  told 
Merrilie's  sister  made  a  foreign  marriage.  And 
if  Merrilie  hadn't  set  her  foot  down,  Edith  would 
have  had  to  give  Guido  Mocenigo  up,"  concluded 
Annie. 

"I  am  forgetting,"  said  Adrane,  directing  his 
confession  frankly  to  Merrilie.  "I  am  always 
forgetting.  Impose  any  penance  you  like." 

"No,"  observed  Merrilie  with  dignity;  "we  are 
discussing  the  subject  in  general,  not  in  its  happy 
instances.  It  is  perfectly  defensible  without  in- 
voking particular  cases." 

"You  got  off  lightly,  Adrane,  with  *  silly  prej- 
udice,'" said  Drake.  "Merrilie  uses  stronger  lan- 
guage at  times.  I've  heard  her  refer  to  all  kinds 
of  provincialism  and  even  'vulgar  prejudice. ": 

Merrilie  declined  to  be  baited.  "Only  when 
Harry  irritates  me,"  she  said.  "And  then  I  use 
the  word  only  in  the  sense  of  common — the  feeling 
certainly  is  wide-spread." 

"We  hear  so  much,"  volunteered  Annie,  "about 
the  wretched  foreign  marriages  and  so  little  about 
the  happy  ones." 

"A  Parisian  surgeon  put  it  to  me  better  than 
that,"  remarked  Merrilie,  still  resentful  of  Ad- 
rane's  bluntness.  "You  complain,"  said  he,  "of 
our  worthless  men.  The  trouble  is,  you  send  us 
such  worthless  girls  with  your  American  fortunes. 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Show  me  a  real  American  woman  among  us  and  I 
will  usually  show  you  a  happy  foreign  marriage. 
Some  such  marriages  are  failures,  undeniably. 
But  do  your  good  girl's  at  home  always  secure 
good  husbands?  If  so,"  he  added,  "I  should  like 
to  send  my  own  daughters  over."  Merrilie  bent 
her  eyes  on  Adrane.  "What  could  I  do,"  she 
asked  calmly — "advise  him  to  send  them  to 
America?" 

"No  doubt  I  am  wrong,"  admitted  Adrane,  re- 
turning amiably  the  challenge  of  her  scrutiny. 
But  Merrilie  perceived  that  he  remained  uncon- 
vinced and  his  unexpressed  persistence  irritated 
her. 

At  a  little  landing-pier  on  the  beach  north  of 
the  lighthouse,  Captain  Coffin,  with  a  day  cruiser 
and  a  catboat,  awaited  the  walking  party.  The 
wind  was  shifting  to  the  north. 

"Fraid  you'll  get  wet  going  back  in  the  cat- 
boat,"  said  Captain  Coffin  warningly. 

"Oh,  captain!"  objected  Merrilie,  "don't  tell 
us  we  can't  sail  home." 

"Might  be  little  rough  crossing  the  bar." 

A  consultation  followed.  It  was  concluded  to 
go  back  in  the  cruiser.  Adrane  held  out  for  the 
catboat. 

Neither  Annie  nor  Merrilie  wanted  to  get  wet. 
Captain  Coffin  suggested  Adrane  might  take  the 

42 


Merrilie  Dawes 

boat  around  outside  the  bar.  Merrilie  liked  the 
idea;  Annie  demurred  at  the  whitecaps.  She  pro- 
posed that  John  should  take  the  cruiser  back  and 
let  the  captain  bring  the  catboat,  but  Adrane  de- 
clined to  be  responsible  for  a  gasolene  engine.  He 
preferred  to  go  outside  alone  with  the  catboat 
and  Captain  Coffin  helped  him  make  ready.  As 
he  was  about  to  give  the  word  to  cast  off,  Coffin 
hesitated.  "If  you  go  too  far  you'll  get  caught 
in  the  east  rip."  He  explained  to  Adrane  what 
the  tidal  current  was.  "  Better  to  cross  the  bar," 
he  suggested,  pointing  the  course. 

The  others  on  the  pier  listened  while  the  two  men 
debated.  Merrilie  came  to  the  rescue.  "Why, 
I  know  the  east  rip  perfectly  well,  Captain  Coffin. 
I  can  take  Mr.  Adrane  and  all  the  rest  of  you 
around  the  bar  without  getting  into  that." 

The  objections  of  her  companions  and  of  Adrane 
himself  did  not  dissuade  Merrilie.  Captain  Coffin 
declared  she  could  take  the  catboat  anywhere  he 
could.  Merrilie  invited  Annie  and  Drake  to  join 
her.  They  refused,  and  she  sprang  down  on  the 
catboat  deck  alone.  Adrane,  in  the  cockpit, 
hastened  forward  to  hand  her  over.  Coffin  cast 
off  and  Adrane  brought  the  boat  around. 


43 


CHAPTER  V 

NO,"  said  Merrilie  definitively  to  Adrane,  in 
the  catboat,  something  like  an  hour  later, 
"I  don't  want  to  discuss  anything  whatever  that 
is  foreign.  I'm  home  for  a  long  stay  and  I  want 
to  hear  nothing  but  things  American.  I  have 
told  you  everything  I  know,  anyway.  And  I'm 
afraid,"  she  suggested  a  second  time,  "you  are  go- 
ing too  far." 

The  wind  had  shifted  and  the  boat,  running 
lightly  on  a  starboard  tack,  was,  in  fact,  well  out 
at  sea.  Merrilie's  eyes  turned  toward  the  shore  as 
she  spoke  and  Adrane,  at  the  wheel,  looked  back 
with  her.  On  the  western  horizon  the  cliffs  of 
Crossrips  could  still  be  seen  stretching  in  long,  low- 
lying  horns  to  the  north  and  south.  The  sun  had 
set,  and  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  dark  cres- 
cent rose  in  the  afterglow — beacon  of  fisherman 
and  coastwise  mariner — Madaket  Head,  its  bulky 
shoulders  surmounted  by  Madaket  light. 

From  the  shore  line  Adrane's  eyes  turned  to  the 
telltale.  "We  shall  have  a  fair  wind  running  in." 

"If  we  have  any,"  suggested  Merrilie,  who  was 
44 


Merrilie  Dawes 

sitting  near  him.     "And  the  tide  will  be  against 
us." 

"The  tide's  worth  fighting,  for  an  hour  like 
this." 

"Not  if  we  get  into  the  east  rip." 

"If  we  should,  what  would  happen?" 

"Oh,  several  things.  We  might  drift  below  the 
light-ship  and  it  would  be  a  liner  on  our  heads. 
There  would,  of  course,  be  a  chance  for  the  coast 
of  Portugal.  Or  we  could  try  for  the  Bermudas. 
In  any  event,  there  would  be  annoyance  for  us, 
confusion  at  Crossrips,  and — more  likely  than  any- 
thing else — a  motor-boat  rescue  and  a  midnight 
supper  instead  of  a  good  dinner." 

"What  are  these  rips?" 

"Two  of  them  give  the  island  its  name.  The 
north  or  east  rip  that  runs  straight  out  to  sea  and 
the  south  rip  that  runs  around  Scallop  Point. 
They  meet  somewhere  out  here.  In  fact,  I  begin 
to  suspect  we  are  in  the  east  rip  now " 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  light-ship?" 

"Fifty  or  sixty  miles  from  Madaket  Head." 

"How  far  to  Portugal?" 

"About  three  thousand." 

"As  you  say,"  commented  Adrane,  putting  the 
wheel  over,  "it  might  be  done.  But  I  think  we 
had  better  try  for  New  England.  I  hope  I  shan't 
keep  you  late  for  dinner." 

45 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"We  are  sure  to  be  late  for  dinner.  That 
doesn't  matter  much.  And  if  we  can't  get  in, 
Orrin  or  Captain  Coffin  is  sure  to  be  out  after 
us  with  a  motor.  They  know  my  irresponsibility 
as  a  pilot — except  when  I  am  sailing  alone.  And 
you  are  a  bridge-builder?" 

Adrane  raised  a  finger  from  the  wheel.  "One 
bridge." 

"Oh,  I  know  better  than  that.  And  the  one 
such  a  huge  one!" 

"  For  a  while  it  was  a  huge  anxiety." 

Merrilie  regarded  him  leisurely.  "I  saw  a  pic- 
ture of  that  bridge  in  a  French  paper,"  she  said, 
lending  her  eyes  and  the  expression  of  her  face  to 
the  distinctness  of  her  words.  "With  an  article," 
she  added,  "and  a  perfectly  dreadful  snap-shot 
of  the  distinguished  builder." 

"Taken,  I  suppose,  about  the  time  every  one 
predicted  the  bridge  would  be  a  failure.  I  know  / 
felt  rotten  about  it  for  a  while.  At  one  time 
we  were  trying  to  borrow  money  in  Paris;  very 
likely  the  publicity  was  part  of  the  programme." 

"Were  you  successful?" 

"No,"  confessed  Adrane.  "I  imagine  the  snap- 
shot killed  our  chances." 

Merrilie  made  a  deprecating  gesture.  "It  really 
was  atrocious."  She  breathed,  too,  a  professed  re- 
gret. "If  they  had  only  sent  a  good  photograph, 

46 


Merrilie  Dawes 

the  railroad  map  of  the  Mississippi  valley  might 
have  been  changed.  But,  seriously,  Mr.  Adrane, 
how  do  you  build  a  great  bridge?" 

Adrane  responded  composedly:  "Seriously,  by 
borrowing  all  the  money  you  can." 

"No,  really,"  persisted  Merrilie.  "It  must  be 
immensely  difficult  to  build  a  big  bridge." 

"In  this  case,"  volunteered  Adrane,  "the  diffi- 
culty lay  not  so  much  in  building  the  bridge  as  in 
getting  a  railroad  line  down  the  west  bank  of  the 
river  before  we  crossed." 

Merrilie  opened  her  eyes.  They  were,  he  saw, 
a  different  shade  from  Annie's,  and  the  expression 
was  different.  Annie's  eyes  were  apprehensive, 
but  Merrilie's  were  apprehending.  "The  dis- 
pute," he  explained,  responding  to  her  unspoken 
inquiry,  "was  whether  a  road  could  be  built 
down  the  west  side  of  the  river  at  all.  Mr. 
Hamersley's  engineers  had  made  reconnois- 
sances  and  surveys  more  than  once  and  re- 
ported against  it;  engineers  for  Eastern  interests 
had  tried  out  lines.  They  all  said  it  couldn't  be 
done.  I  was  doing  some  bridge  work  for  two 
Western  railroad  men  at  the  time — Glover  and 
McCloud.  We  were  figuring  one  day  how  we 
could  beat  somebody  out  of  some  money — it  is  a 
popular  diversion  in  the  West — when  I  told  them 
of  this  impossible  railroad  project,  with  three  or 

47 


Merrilie  Dawes 

four  fortunes  in  it.  Glover  thought  if  I  could  put 
a  bridge  across  the  river  at  Wagon  Wheel  Mound, 
he  could  show  me  where  to  run  almost  a  water- 
grade  line  down  the  west  shore.  That  was  our 
combination." 

"Splendid!"  exclaimed  Merrilie.  Then  she 
raised  her  hand  toward  Adrane  as  if  to  ward  off 
a  complication.  She  started  to  speak,  suppressed 
an  exclamation,  and  regarded  him  laughingly. 
Her  face  had  lighted  with  a  new  and  unex- 
plained interest.  She  continued  to  look  directly 
at  him  and  waited  for  his  next  words.  He  no- 
ticed how  animation  warmed  her  eyes.  Adrane's 
own  expression  now  put  a  question  to  her  and  she 
explained  in  turn.  "This  begins  to  be  exciting," 
she  declared.  "I  never  knew  that  your  road  was 
the  West  Mississippi  line." 

"How  did  you  ever  hear  about  it?" 

Merrilie  negatived  his  question  in  the  Italian 
manner,  with  her  finger.  "Never  mind  how — 
just  go  on." 

"We  hadn't  a  cent  of  money."  His  frankness 
seemed  nai've.  "But  it  happened  that  Mrs. 
McCloud  and  Mrs.  Glover  are  both  very  wealthy 
— I  mean,"  he  stopped,  as  if  realizing  whom 
he  was  talking  with,  "as  wealth  goes  in  the 
West." 

Merrilie,  too,  became  self-conscious  for  an  in- 
48 


Merrilie  Dawes 

stant.  "I  understand,"  she  returned,  not  quite 
pleased  at  her  embarrassment. 

"At  any  rate,  they  staked  the  enterprise," 
added  Adrane. 

"I  think  that  was  fine!"  exclaimed  Merrilie 
heartily — "even  if  they  did  ruin  me." 

Adrane  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  "Oh, 
I'm  joking,  just  joking,"  she  laughed.  "Do  go 
on." 

"That  is  about  all.  We  merely  elected  a  treas- 
urer and  went  to  work." 

"Who  ran  the  lines?" 

'  That  devolved  on  me." 

"And  the  bridge?" 

"The  bridge  was  easy " 

"You  certainly  are  modest,"  interposed  Mer- 
rilie. 

"After,"  he  paused  on  the  word  as  he  continued, 
"we  got  a  lot  more  money." 

"Mr.  Adrane!"  Merrilie's  cheeks  were  pink  with 
life.  "Do  you  know  what  you  did,  when  you 
built  that  road?  You  spoiled  the  railroad  down 
the  other  side  of  the  river." 

"Oh,  that  road;  yes.  Well,  that  really  never 
was  very  much  of  a  road  anyway,  Miss  Dawes." 

"Wasn't  it,  indeed?" 

"No,  indeed."  They  looked  questioningly  at 
each  other.  Then  something  dawned  on  Adrane. 

49 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Were  you  ever  interested  in  that  road?"  he 
asked  suddenly. 

"Only  as  one  of  the  unlucky  bondholders.  You 
know  it  is  bankrupt." 

"I  know."  And  he  remembered  now  he  had 
heard  that  the  Richard  Dawes  estate  was  the 
largest  individual  bondholder.  Merrilie,  how- 
ever, did  not,  he  perceived,  take  the  situation 
seriously.  "It's  a  terrible  mess,"  she  acknowl- 
edged, "but  not  of  much  consequence.  What  is 
more  to  the  point  just  now  is  that  it  is  getting 
dark." 

Adrane  looked  around.     "It  is  dark." 

"And  we  are  not  getting  in  very  fast." 

"Not  very." 

"In  fact,"  declared  Merrilie  looking  carefully 
toward  her  distant  landmarks,  "we  are  drifting 
out  to  sea." 

"Beyond  doubt,  the  wind  is  dying,"  admitted 
Adrane. 

"The  north  wind  is  unreliable.  See,  the  lights 
are  on  in  the  village.  Isn't  it  pretty?" 

They  turned  toward  each  other  to  look  and 
their  heads  came  near  together.  "Mr.  Hamersley 
gave  them  the  electric-light  plant  last  year,"  said 
Merrilie  with  the  measured  indifference  of  ut- 
terance that  is  pleasing  at  close  range  from  any 
woman's  lips.  "He  gives  them  something  every 

50 


Merrilie  Dawes 

year — a  town  hall  or  a  fire-engine.  I  think  that 
a  beautiful  scene!" 

"It  is  beautiful." 

"  But  you  are  worrying." 

"Only  about  getting  you  in." 

"Don't  worry  about  that.     It  is  my  fault." 

"My  responsibility." 

"We  are  in  the  rip.  Orrin  will  be  out  very 
soon.  Hark!  Can't  you  hear  something?" 

"I  think  I  do  hear  a  motor,"  reported  Adrane 
after  a  moment. 

"It  must  be  fine  to  be  a  man  and  build  railroads 
and  bridges.  Mr.  Hamersley  says  you  have  whole 
mountains  of  steel." 

"Iron,"  amended  Adrane. 

"What's  the  difference?"    asked  Merrilie. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A'TER  a  change  and  the  late  dinner  due 
to  the  accident,  Merrilie  made  light  of  the 
excitement  about  her  having  been  caught  with 
Adrane  in  the  east  rip.  "I  have  perfect  confi- 
dence in  Captain  Coffin,"  she  declared,  contesting 
her  Aunt  Jane's  reproaches  of  recklessness.  "He 
knows  me  of  old  and  expects  to  pick  me  up  any- 
where I  happen  to  need  him." 

Annie,  to  whom  she  talked  for  a  moment,  Mer- 
rilie reassured  in  the  same  strain.  "I  didn't  mind 
the  delay  at  all.  Mr.  Adrane  entertained  me 
beautifully.  Isn't  it  interesting,  all  he  is  doing?" 
Adrane  joined  the  two  girls  while  they  were  to- 
gether. He  and  Annie  were  going  bluefishing  in 
the  morning  with  Orrin,  Captain  Coffin's  mate. 

"You  will  have  a  good  pilot  instead  of  a  bad 
one,  Mr.  Adrane,"  said  Merrilie,  "and  better 
luck  sailing."  Adrane  professed  he  had  no  ground 
of  complaint.  "It  was  my  fault,"  insisted  Mer- 
rilie. "Orrin  says  the  east  rip  is  running  farther 
south  than  usual  this  spring.  That's  what  de- 
ceived me." 

52 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Next  morning  Merrilie,  sitting  in  the  sunshine 
on  the  south  terrace,  watched  Adrane  and  Annie 
descend  the  steps  to  the  pier.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments Mrs.  Hamersley  came  from  the  garden  to 
join  Merrilie.  She  walked  with  the  leisurely  con- 
fidence of  one  of  assured  position,  and  if  there 
was  at  times  a  suspicion  of  gouty  uncertainty  in 
her  step,  Mrs.  Hamersley  managed  the  annoy- 
ance with  skill. 

"I  don't  like  to  joke  about  the  creeping  on  of 
time,"  she  drawled — her  voice  was  soft  and  full, 
and  though  it  broke  at  times,  it  was  not  unpleas- 
ingly — "but,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  seating  her- 
self, "Amos  tells  me  I  am  beginning  to  walk  as 
if  I  had  been  drinking." 

"How  outrageous!"  cried  Merrilie.  "You  may 
tell  Mr.  Hamersley  for  me  that  his  wife  walks  like 
a  queen." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  reached  for  her  handkerchief. 
"Like  the  queen  of  clubs,  I'm  afraid,  dear.  Well, 
how's  my  child?" 

"Never  better.     I 

"Not  engaged  yet?"  Mrs.  Hamersley  did  not 
permit  conversation  to  interfere  with  her  flow  of 
thought. 

Merrilie,  well  resigned  to  such  inquisitions,  an- 
swered openly:  "Not  a  hint  of  it." 

"Merrilie,"  continued  her  hostess  with  preca- 
53 


Merrilie  Dawes 

tory  but  significant  restraint,  "don't  spring  any 
surprises  on  me." 

"Not  for  worlds." 

"I  don't  like  surprises,"  concluded  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley  warningly. 

"I  am  dreaming  of  none." 

"Yet  something  tells  me  that  in  the  end  you 
will  inflict  one.  I  hear  that  you  have  a  lot  of 
attention." 

"Who  says  that?" 

"Harry  Drake,  Mrs.  Havens,  everybody." 

Merrilie,  with  a  little  gesture,  moved  her  head 
slowly  from  side  to  side.  "Harry  and  Fanny 
Havens  both  know  better.  At  all  events,  if  I 
have  any  attention  it  is  not  in  the  least  of  that 
kind." 

"I  hear  so  much  about  your  house  in  the  Avenue 
du  Bois  de  Boulogne,"  she  said,  dwelling  on  the 
name  of  the  street  with  a  shade  of  intimate 
sarcasm. 

"Why  haven't  you  been  over  to  see  it?  I've  a 
little  garden." 

"If  Amos  doesn't  go  over  with  me  next  sum- 
mer, I  am  going  alone.  I  feel  reasonably  sure," 
reflected  Mrs.  Hamersley,  "that  he  will  follow 
me  if  I  stay  long  enough.  You  haven't  told  me 
how  you  like  Mr.  Adrane." 

"Julia  Robbins  says  he  is  conceited,"  Merrilie 
54 


Merrilie  Dawes 

returned,  swinging  her  foot,  which  did  not  quite 
touch  the  ground,  as  if  to  aid  a  reflective  mood. 
"That's  mere  diffidence,  I  suppose.  I  think  I 
should  like  him.  Annie  is  as  happy  as  a  child." 

"  For  once,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Hamersley.  "You've 
heard  all  about  how  it  happened,  I  suppose?" 

"I've  hardly  seen  Annie  yet." 

"Mr.  Adrane  has  a  clever  sister  living  in 
Chicago;  rather  a  brilliant  woman,  but,  like  mey 
she  talks  too  much.  Her  husband  is  an  army 
officer — Colonel  Somebody.  Mr.  Adrane  enter- 
tained his  sister  at  Palm  Beach  last  winter,  and 
she  and  Mrs.  Whitney  engineered  it,  I  fancy." 

"Engineered  it!  Heavens,  couldn't  the  man  do 
his  own  engineering?  He  builds  bridges,  doesn't 
he?" 

"These  are  the  days  of  specialists,  my  dear,  in 
matrimonial  affairs  as  in  everything  else.  A  man 
might  be  capable  of  building  an  excellent  railroad 
bridge  without  being  able  to  construct  even  the 
social  approaches  to  a  domestic  structure." 

"Nonsense,"  exclaimed  Merrilie  with  contempt. 
"  Doesn't  a  man  know  his  own  mind,  or  whom  he 
wants  to  marry,  if  he's  a  man  at  all?" 

"Don't  fly  off  the  handle  as  to  what  men 
ought  to  know,  or  be,  or  do.  I've  always  in- 
sisted, Merrilie,  you  lack  a  proper  appreciation 
of  the  delicacy  of  matrimonial  affairs.  You  are 

55 


Merrilie  Dawes 

too    sceptical,   my    dear.     Because    these    things 
don't  interest  you,  you  profess  to  ignore  them." 

Merrilie  made  no  attempt  to  deny  the  accusa- 
tion. "I've  no  patience  with  such  ideas." 

"But  you  must  have.  And  you  must  remem- 
ber there  are,  for  instance,  Western  men  like  Mr. 
Adrane,  fine  fellows  in  every  way — the  best  in 
the  world,  /  think — but  inexperienced  in  feminine 
arts.  They  are  not  socially  sophisticated.  They 
arrive,  after  their  business  success,  novices  in  so- 
ciety. And  for  such  there  must  be  social  and  mat- 
rimonial engineers.  Don't  quarrel  with  the  neces- 
sary conventions." 

Merrilie  looked  contemptuous.  The  pump  on 
her  left  foot,  hanging  just  above  the  ground,  swung 
pro.testingly.  "You  must  have  noticed,"  contin- 
ued Mrs.  Hamersley  placidly,  "how  difficult  it  is 
for  Mr.  Adrane  to  say  anything." 

Her  guest  still  frowned.  "  How  long  have  Annie 
and  he  been  engaged?" 

"Three  or  four  months.  Doesn't  he  strike  you 
as  young  for  thirty-three?" 

Merrilie  pondered.  "In  some  ways,"  she  as- 
sented. Then,  after  another  pause:  "I  suppose 
he  is  what  you  call  acute  in  business  and  inexperi- 
enced in  social  life.  He  sort  of  makes  a " 

"Makes  a  bluff  at  it,"  suggested  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley. 

56 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  laughed  without  answering.  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley's  eyes  wandered  and  her  thoughts  with 
them.  "Well,"  she  demanded  resignedly,  "what 
have  you  come  back  to  do  this  time,  Merrilie— 
found  a  cat  hospital  or  endow  a  university?" 

Merrilie  made  no  effort  to  turn  the  sarcasm. 
"You  would  laugh  at  me  if  I  told  you  why  I 
came;  I  was  homesick.  I  wanted  to  see  New 
York." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  raised  a  hand  in  triumph. 
"What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"You  didn't  tell  me  anything.  I  was  home- 
sick; but  that  isn't  saying  Paris  isn't  more  at- 
tractive than  New  York.  And  Edith  is  in 
Venice." 

"You  will  have  to  get  married." 

Merrilie  showed  only  indifference.  "You  will 
have  to  find  the  husband  for  me." 

"Harry  Drake  is  dying  to  marry  you." 

"The  disease  must  be  a  lingering  one,  Aunt 
Kate.  Harry  and  I  have  known  each  other  a 
good  many  years." 

"He  told  me  once  you  wouldn't  marry  him." 

Merrilie,  sitting  now  with  her  feet  crossed, 
laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  the  statement.  "  Harry 
never  asked  me  to  marry  him.  He  only  tried  to 
find  out  what  I  would  say  if  he  did  ask  me.  I 
didn't  think  that  quite  ingenuous.  Subjects  of 

57 


Merrilie  Dawes 

that  sort  are  usually  considered  delicate.     Some 
one  has  to  take  a  chance " 

"I  had  to  encourage  Amos — "  interposed  Mrs. 
Hamersley  meditatively. 

Merrilie  seemed  not  in  precisely  a  jesting  mood. 
"I  don't  think  a  man,  if  he  is  afraid  to  take  the 
chance  himself,  should  try  to  shoulder  the  risk  on 
the  woman." 

"But,  Merrilie,  would  you  marry  Harry?" 

Merrilie  shot  a  look  at  her  inquisitor.  "You 
are  not  his  ambassadress,  I  hope." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  moved  in  her  chair.  "No, 
you  mustn't  think  I  am  plotting.  I  should  like 
to  see  you  happily  married.  You  have  everything 
else  on  earth." 

Merrilie  was  restive.  "I  don't  consider  that's 
so  at  all.  I  think  large  means  are  the  heaviest 
possible  handicap  for  any  one,  Aunt  Kate.  A  poor 
girl  would  have  twenty  chances  to  my  one  for  being 
happy."  A  tone  of  light  helplessness  followed. 
"Truly,  if  I  were  to  catalogue  my  suitors  even 
Falstaff  would  blush  to  enroll  them."  Merrilie 
spread  out  her  hands  and  laughed.  "Most  of 
them  treat  me  precisely  as  if  I  were  an  estate. 
I  suppose  I  am,"  she  sighed  resignedly. 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Mrs.  Hamersley  with  a 
touch  of  mockery,  "you  think  you  would  like  to 
be  poor." 

58 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  started.  "Heaven  forbid!  Can  you 
imagine  me  poor?  It  would  take  a  real  woman  to 
be  poor,  not  a  hothouse  imitation.  What  but 
poverty  would  be  absolutely  insupportable?  Life, 
lacking  the  luxuries  you  can  tempt  yourself  with, 
would  be  worth  less  than  nothing.  It  is  bad 
enough  as  it  is." 

"Well,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  can  you  tell  me 
what  you  do  want,  Merrilie?" 

Merrilie  rested  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  stared 
at  the  distant  sea.  "I  don't  want  anything." 

"You  will  have  to  be  a  great  philanthropist, 
Merrilie.  I  don't  mean  a  haphazard  one,  as  you 
are  now,  but  a  real  substantial  pillar  of  discrim- 
inating, cold-storage  charity." 

"So  Mr.  Havens  suggested  the  other  day. 
Systematic  charity!"  exclaimed  Merrilie.  "Ab- 
surd pretence,  isn't  it?"  She  leaned  forward: 
"How  can  you  move  the  poor,"  she  demanded, 
"unless  you  strip  yourself  and  be  one  of  them?" 

"  But,  my  conscience,  child,  you  can't  do 
that." 

"I  know  I  can't.  That  is  why  I  hate  myself 
when  I  go  among  them — which  isn't  very  often. 
These  charity  boards,  these  trustees!  I  could 
squirm  sometimes,  I  get  so  sick  of  their  mealy- 
mouthing.  But  I've  an  excellent  dig  in  Tilden. 
He  grills  them  unmercifully  on  efficiency.  'How 

59 


Merrilie  Dawes 

much  of  your  dollar  gets  to  the  poor  and  how 
much  of  it  does  your  organization  eat  up?'  he 
always  asks.  They  hate  to  be  quizzed." 

"You  give  them  a  lot  of  money." 

"What  else  can  I  do?  But  I  feel  like  a  wretch 
when  I  do  it.  Isn't  it  a  miserable  thing  to  be 
sceptical?  I  know  the  money  goes  to  make 
salaries  and  jobs  for  these  whining  climbers. 
Worthy,  of  course."  Merrilie  shuddered.  "  But 
I  can't  like  them.  I  get  a  lot  more  satisfaction 
in  giving  where  nobody  else  does." 

"Where  is  that,  pray?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell.  There  is  competition 
nowadays,  auntie,  even  in  giving  away  money 
you  have  no  possible  use  for." 

"I  am  glad,  after  all,"  drawled  Mrs.  Hamersley 
reflectively,  "that  Amos  has  to  work.  It  is  bet- 
ter. I  make  the  servants  go  to  church — what 
more  can  I  do  for  the  welfare  of  society?  I  sup- 
pose some  day  I  shall  be  an  estate  myself." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Kate!  Let  us  hope  you  will  be 
spared  that." 

"A  responsibility,"  lisped  Mrs.  Hamersley,  roll- 
ing her  eyes  ironically. 

"How  I  hate  the  word.  Here  comes  Mr.  Ha- 
vens!" 

"The  word  itself,"  observed  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
rising. 

60 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Havens,  ready  for  golf,  came  through  the  per- 
gola toward  them. 

"Don't  go,"  whispered  Merrilie. 

"I  must,"  declared  her  hostess.  "I  leave  you 
to  your  fate." 

Havens  asked  first  for  Mr.  Hamersley,  but  on 
being  told  he  was  golfing  took  the  chair  Mrs. 
Hamersley  pointed  to  as  she  started  for  the  house, 
and  began  to  talk  to  Merrilie.  Directly  from 
the  heart  of  American  business  life,  he  talked  in- 
terestingly on  almost  any  subject,  and  usually 
spoke  with  a  reserved  authority  that  strengthened 
his  pronouncement.  He  said  something  to  Mer- 
rilie about  Paris  and  presently  something  about 
current  literature.  He  touched  on  such  topics  of 
art  as  were  then  foremost  in  circles  of  large  busi- 
ness and  made  a  mental  note  of  some  books  of 
essays  and  fiction  to  be  sent  to  Merrilie  in  town, 
where  she  said  she  should  be  the  following  week. 

"I  hope,"  he  returned  when  she  told  him  this, 
"you  are  going  to  stay  long  enough  this  time  to 
get  in  some  sort  of  touch  with  our  own  activ- 
ities." 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Merrilie  languidly. 

"There  is  danger,  you  know,"  he  continued,  "of 
losing  interest  in  things  from  which  we  separate 
ourselves  too  long." 

Merrilie,  sitting  in  a  deep  hickory  chair  in  her 
61 


Merrilie  Dawes 

favorite  diminutive  attitude — that  is,  with  one 
foot  swinging  slightly  as  she  supported  her  head  on 
one  hand  and  with  the  other  smoothed  the  folds  of 
her  muslin  gown — smiled  amiably. 

"The  movement  of  our  American  life  and 
thought  is  so  unceasing,"  averred  Havens,  per- 
ceiving that  she  meditated  no  reply,  "that  it  is 
the  easiest  possible  thing  to  get  out  of  tune  with. 
Yet,"  he  continued,  "it  is  always  a  misfortune 
to  do  so.  And  even  those  of  us  compelled  to 
keep  a  finger  on  the  pulse  of  what  goes  on  around 
us  find  it  hard  always  to  keep  alive  to  the  situa- 
tion." 

"It  must  be  a  tremendous  bore  to  try  to,  don't 
you  think?"  ventured  Merrilie,  whose  foot  had 
begun  moving  again. 

Havens  laughed  cordially.  "What  can  one  do? 
Our  responsibilities  multiply."  The  toe  of  Mer- 
rilie's  pump  rose  resentfully.  "And  the  serious 
phase  of  it  is  that  people  of  great  wealth  have 
too  long  ignored  their  responsibilities.  Society 
threatens  revolt.  We  are  accountable  for  our 
positions.  And  we  must  know  what  is  going  on 
about  us  or  we  shall  awake  one  day  to  find  our- 
selves  " 

"Asleep,"  suggested  Merrilie  recklessly. 

Havens,  in  no  way  disconcerted,  smiled  as  he 
went  on:  "Precisely,  if  you  don't  mind  the  ab- 

62 


Merrilie  Dawes 

surdity.  Every  journal  you  pick  up  tells  you  of 
what  is  coming." 

"Frankly,"  confessed  Merrilie,  "I  never  pick 
one  up.  But  what  is  coming,  Mr.  Havens  ? " 

"Accountability.  We  must  plead  to  justify, 
each  of  us,  before  the  bar  of  an  enlightened  public 
opinion  for  what  the  public  itself  has  given  us 
of  opportunity  and  advancement.  In  American 
thought,  social  unrest  is  the  most  significant  as- 
pect. Wealth  is  actually  before  the  bar." 

"That's  the  way  these  college  presidents  talk 
when  they  are  after  money.  And  the  more  you 
give  them  the  more  unrest  they  perceive.  What 
one  gives  doesn't  permanently  ease  their  minds  on 
the  subject.  Surely  you  are  not  hinting  at  some 
endowment?" 

Havens  made  a  still  cordial  denial.  "  But  there 
is  a  business  matter  I  do  want  to  say  a  word 
about,"  he  added.  Merrilie  shifted  herself  slightly 
in  her  chair  and  with  that  relief  that  we  feel 
when  we  have  suspected  the  existence  of  a  pro- 
spective unpleasantness  and  brought  it  to  light. 
"You  know  our  trust  company  is  seeking  a  new 
home." 

"I  didn't  know  it,  Mr.  Havens." 

"And  that  brings  up  a  suggestion  that  may 
have  an  interest  for  you.  You  have  seen,  of 
course,  how  powerfully  the  business  interests  of 

63 


Merrilie  Dawes 

the  city  are  forcing  themselves  up-town.  Your 
home " 

"I  shall  never  surrender  my  home  to  the  busi- 
ness interests." 

"  I  quite  understand.  In  our  own  case,  I  thought 
what  I  had  to  propose  might  have  a  different 
appeal." 

Merrilie  disliked  his  confident  smile  and  inter- 
rupted: "Nothing  that  concerns  the  surrender 
of  my  home  would  have  any  sort  of  an  ap- 
peal." 

Havens  laughed  patiently.  "Would  you  even 
hear  what  I  desire  to  suggest  in  behalf  of  our 
directors — all  old  friends  of  your  father's?" 

Her  silence  did  not  dismay  him  and  he  went 
on:  "They  are,  as  I  have  said,  seeking  new 
and  adequate  quarters  for  the  trust  company. 
The  company  was,  as  you  know,  even  in  its  in- 
ception, one  of  your  father's  favorite  ideas.  He 
was  the  first  chairman  of  the  board  at  the  bank. 
He,  in  fact,  launched  the  bank  and  piloted  it  to 
the  extraordinary  success  it  enjoys  to-day."  Mer- 
rilie's  pump  beat  now  almost  a  humming-bird 
tattoo.  She  knew  all  of  this.  It  sounded  patro- 
nizing. 

"We  feel  this  pressure  of  the  up-town  movement 
at  the  bank.  With  our  directors  and  our  cus- 
tomers it  is  a  subject  of  discussion  whenever  the 

64 


Merrilie  Dawes 

question  of  a  permanent  home  comes  up.  As  you 
are  perhaps  aware,  business  has  already  gone 
far  beyond  your  home,  and  it  has  occurred  to 
those  of  us  charged  with  the  question  of  a  new 
location  that  the  site  occupied  by  your  father's 
home  would  make  an  admirable  permanent  home 
for  the  trust  company." 

"Dismiss  such  a  thought  from  your  mind,  Mr. 
Havens."  Merrilie  spoke  with  decision.  Havens 
for  an  instant  was  confused.  "You  do  not  think 
well  of  it?"  he  ventured. 

"No,"  responded  Merrilie  tersely. 

"We  should  attempt  a  building  worthy  of  the 
associations  of  the  site — the  best  that  art  could 
suggest  and  ample  means  provide.  I  had  thought 
the  fact  that  your  father  was  the  chief  power  of 
our  institution,  and  the  pleasant  fact  of  your  own 
substantial  interest  in  it,  would  sustain  in  some 
degree  the  congruity  of  the  change  from  your 
father's  home " 

Merrilie  interrupted  ruthlessly:  "You  used  that 
phrase,  'my  father's  home,'  before,  overlooking  the 
fact,  apparently,  that  it  is  my  home."  He  tried 
to  disclaim,  but  she  overbore  his  words.  "I  would 
not  listen  for  an  instant  to  any  such  suggestion. 
The  trust  company  can  find  abundance  of  places 
for  new  quarters " 

Havens  tried  to  check  the  hostility  of  her 
65 


Merrilie  Dawes 

words  with  immediate  assent.  "Of  course,  Miss 
Dawes " 

"I  shall  never  sell  or  alienate  my  home  on  any 
pretext  whatever."  Her  determination  could  not 
be  mistaken.  "I  should  think  it  a  sacrilege  to 
my  father's  memory  to  consider  such  a  thing  for 
a  moment.  It  is  where  he  died  and  where  my 
mother  died,  and  as  long  as  I  live  it  shall  stand, 
even  if  they  put  up  detestable  sky-scrapers  all 
around  it." 

"Quite,  quite  right.  I  understand  your  posi- 
tion perfectly,  if  you  will  let  me  say  so.  Indeed, 
I  admire  your  resolution.  And  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  misunderstand  me " 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Havens,"  returned  Merrilie 
promptly,  the  pink  still  burning  in  her  cheeks. 
"I  speak  decidedly  because  the  subject  has  been 
hinted  at  in  letters  and  brought  before  me  so 
much  that  I  am  sick  of  it — I  hope  it  never  will 
be  broached  again.  You  may  make  this  as  strong 
as  you  like  in  telling  the  directors.  I  shall  never, 
under  any  circumstances,  Mr.  Havens,  part  with 
my  family  home." 

"I  understand  perfectly.  And  now  will  you 
tell  me  what  there  is  that  I  or  any  of  your 
friends  down-town  can  do  to  serve  you  while  you 
are  at  home?"  Before  she  could  answer,  he  con- 
tinued. "They  are  all  anxious  to  be  of  any  pos- 

66 


Merrilie  Dawes 

sible  service;  and  while  it  is  on  my  mind — if  you 
have  any  wishes  concerning  the  personnel  of  new 
directorate  we  should  be  glad  to  have  you  express 
them." 

Merrilie  made  a  gesture  dismissing  the  subject. 
"Thank  you  ever  so  much." 

"Mr.  Tilden  still  takes  good  care  of  your  sec- 
retarial work?" 

"Very  good,  thank  you." 

"His  habits,  I  understand,  are  more  regular." 

Merrilie  uttered  a  reluctant  little  note  of  dis- 
sent. "I  am  afraid  there  is  no  decided  improve- 
ment in  his  habits,  but  that,"  she  added  dryly, 
"  has  only  the  disadvantage  of  making  me  a  little 
more  careful  about  my  own.  As  long  as  one  of 
us  can  be  depended  on,  I  feel  reasonably  safe. 
And  you  must  consider — poor  Mr.  Tilden  lives 
with  Mrs.  Tilden!" 

Havens  laughed.  "Quite  so.  But,  jesting  apart, 
his  post  of  duty  in  your  employ  is  one  of  great 
trust.  You  must  not  lose  sight  of  what  serious 
confusion  your  confidential  secretary  could  throw 
your  affairs  into " 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?" 

"Do  I  think  so?  For  such  a  position  you  need, 
above  all  else,  complete  trustworthiness.  And  if 
you  should  ever  feel  the  necessity  of  making  a 

change " 

6? 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  should  never  discharge  Mr.  Tilden." 

"Assuredly  not  so  long  as  he  is  acceptable " 

"He  was  left  to  me  by  father." 

"Though  his  weakness  for  drink  was  not  then 
apparent,  I  presume.'* 

"Father  was  only  too  well  aware  that  Mr. 
Tilden  drank." 

"He  was?" 

"  But  he  knew  him  to  be  thoroughly  honest." 

Havens's  failure  to  accomplish  either  object  of 
his  mission  left  him  unruffled. 

"His  composure  makes  me  furious,"  declared 
Merrilie,  talking  to  Mrs.  Hamersley  when  she  re- 
joined her.  "No  one  has  any  business  to  be  so 
composed  when  he  is  being  snubbed.  It  isn't 
decent." 

"Why  do  you  snub  him?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hamersley,  who  knew  but  enjoyed  being  told 
again. 

"He  persists  in  trying  to  get  hold  of  every 
affair  I  have  in  the  world,  and  I  won't  have  it." 

"Every  one  seems  to  put  great  confidence  in 
Mr.  Havens,  Merrilie." 

Merrilie  was  almost  curt.     "I  don't." 

"But  you  don't  trust  anybody." 

"I'm  sorry.  Isn't  it  too  bad  to  be  born  that 
way,  auntie?" 

"All  the  same,"  persisted  Mrs.  Hamersley,  re- 
68 


Merrilie  Dawes 

solved  to  quarrel  with  her  stubborn  favorite,  "you 
like  Harry  Drake." 

Merrilie    smiled    faintly.     "Everybody    likes 
Harry." 


69 


CHAPTER  VII 

MERRILIE'S  words  came  back  to  her  that 
evening  at  the  boat-house.  Mrs.  Hamers- 
ley  had  gathered  the  few  early  summer  residents 
that  had  reached  the  island  and  there  was  danc- 
ing. During  the  supper  Drake  took  Merrilie  out 
on  the  upper  balcony. 

"I  always  think  of  you  in  a  little  company, 
Harry,"  confessed  Merrilie  when  he  sat  down  with 
her. 

"Why  in  a  little  company?" 

"Oh,  you  do  things  well;  you  make  whatever 
is  on  go." 

"You   mean   in   company?" 

Merrilie   nodded. 

"Is  that  the  only  time?"  he  demanded. 

"Don't  irritate  me,"  pleaded  Merrilie.  "I 
mean,  you  are  always  so  alive." 

Drake  wore  a  sandy,  close-cropped  beard  in  the 
Van  Dyke  fashion  and  it  contributed  to  an  expres- 
sion of  alertness  in  his  light-blue  eyes.  They 
sparkled  with  animation,  they  were  never  at  rest, 

70 


Merrilie  Dawes 

their  light  never  died;  and  his  blond  cheeks  were 
always  flushed. 

"It  has  been  a  struggle  to  keep  alive  for  two 
years,  Merrilie,"  he  declared.  "Have  you  really 
deserted  us  for  good?"  he  asked,  leaning  forward 
as  he  took  her  fan. 

"I  shall  never  desert  New  York  for  good — I've 
told  you  that." 

"  How  much  of  an  inducement  would  bring  you 
back  oftener?" 

"Something  to  come  for,  I  suppose." 

"I  wish  I  could  supply  it." 

"That  is  very  kind,  Harry." 

"You  will  never  come  back  if  you  marry  over 
there." 

"I  should  hate  to  think  I  was  giving  up  Amer- 
ica." 

"You  will  find  some  foreigner  to  stifle  your 
regrets." 

Merrilie  put  out  her  lips.  "It  will  take  an  ex- 
traordinary foreigner  to  overcome  my  love  for  my 
own  country — I  mean  my  associations,  traditions, 
people,"  she  added  impatiently.  "I  am  horribly 
provincial.  And  I  am  afraid  I  like  it." 

"Merrilie,"  demanded  her  companion  bluntly, 
"do  you  know  what  the  trouble  is,  with  you?" 

"I  know  a  few  of  the  troubles;  not  all,  of  course. 
What  is  this  particular  one?" 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Oh,  there  isn't  any  plural  to  it.  You  are 
too  exacting.  You  have  set  your  standard  so 
high- 

Merrilie  regarded  him  speculatively.  "What 
standard?" 

"Your  masculine  standard.  You've  set  it  so 
high  nobody  will  ever  reach  it." 

She  laughed  heartlessly.  "That's  nonsense, 
Harry." 

"Not  a  bit.  You  have  scared  all  the  men  to 
death." 

"No  doubt,  Harry,"  she  returned,  subsiding 
into  a  smile.  "But  not  in  the  way  you  imply." 

"I  should  really  like  to  know  what  you  require 
in  a  husband." 

"I  have  no  requirements,  none  in  the  world — 
except,  of  course " 

"There  it  is — 'except,  of  course,'  what?" 

"That  he  should  interest  me  a  little — if  you 
don't  consider  that  too  exacting." 

"Merrilie,"  declared  Drake,  assuming  a  vexed 
hopelessness,  "it's  impossible  to  pin  you  down  to 
anything." 

"You  mean,"  persisted  Merrilie,  her  voice 
bubbling  a  little,  "to  anything  I  ought  not  to  be 
pinned  down  to!  I  don't  cross-examine  you  about 
your  requirements  for  a  wife,  do  I?  Who  gave 
you  license  to  exact  a  bill  of  particulars  from  me?" 

72 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I'm  afraid  you're  a  confirmed  flirt." 

Her  eyebrows  rose.  She  looked  at  Drake  with 
an  expression  from  which  he  could  read  noth- 
ing. When  she  spoke  her  hand  rested  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair  and  she  lifted  it  lazily  from 
the  wrist.  "Harry  Drake,  you  are  the  flirt, 
not  I." 

Drake  laughed  unrestrainedly.  "I  don't  know 
how  you  can  talk  in  that  way,"  he  protested  in 
high  humor.  "I  the  flirt!  I  know  this  minute 
of  at  least  one  girl  that  I  asked  once  to  marry 
me  and  she  wouldn't  say  yes  or  no." 

Merrilie  was  amiably  unmoved.  "And  I  know 
of  at  least  one  girl  that  you  did  not  ask  to  marry 


you 

"What!" 

She  waved  her  hand.  "Let's  keep  the  record 
straight,  Harry." 

Drake's  head  dropped  in  vexed  protest.  "Mer- 
rilie, you  don't  like  me." 

"I  didn't  like  you  that  summer — especially 
before  Fanny  Whitney's  engagement  was  an- 
nounced." He  tried  to  speak.  Merrilie  cut  him 
off.  "  Don't  let's  get  started  on  that — only  don't 
you  call  me  a  flirt,  even  if  I  bear  the  unlovely 
stigma  among  others." 

Harry  frowned.  "Poor  Fanny  is  married,"  he 
apologized. 

73 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"She  and  I  never  were  congenial,"  observed 
Merrilie  dryly. 

"Don't  be  hard-hearted." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  hated  Fanny  and  she  hated 
me.  I  was  as  mean  as  I  could  be  to  her,  and  she 
was  as  mean  as  she  could  be  to  me.  Her  father 
hated  my  father,  and  father  heartily  hated  him. 
I'm  even  glad  Mr.  Havens  married  Fanny.  We 
have  no  saints,  you  know,  in  our  family — except 
Edith.  The  Daweses  are  just  everything  irritable 
— plain,  black-blooded  Highlanders " 

Harry  beat  a  retreat.  "You've  heard,  by  the 
way,  how  enormously  successful  Havenshasbeen?" 

"Mr.  Hamersley  said  something  about  it,  yes." 

Adrane,  coming  out  with  Mrs.  Whitney,  asked 
Merrilie  for  a  dance.  Drake  rose.  "The  next  is 
mine,"  he  reminded  her.  Merrilie  nodded  and 
walked  inside  with  Adrane. 

When  Adrane's  dance  was  ended,  Drake  was 
dancing  with  .Annie,  and  Merrilie,  with  Adrane, 
sought  the  balcony  again.  Mrs.  Whitney,  coming 
in,  met  them  in  the  doorway. 

"Merrilie,"  remarked  Mrs.  Whitney  impres- 
sively, "you  must  have  Mr.  Adrane  tell  you  about 
his  wonderful  steel  companies."  Merrilie  looked 
bored.  The  dancing  hadn't  gone  to  please  Ad- 
rane and  he  winced,  Merrilie  thought,  at  Mrs. 
Whitney's  confident  reference  to  the  company  as 

74 


Merrilie  Dawes 

his.     "You  don't  mean  my  companies,"  he  said; 
"you  mean  the  Steel  River  Companies." 

Mrs.  Whitney  opened  her  eyes  with  a  significant 
glance  at  Merrilie.  "I  know  whose  companies  I 
mean,"  she  insisted  cheerfully,  and  passed  within. 

"No  matter  whose  companies,"  said  Merrilie, 
relieved  at  Mrs.  Whitney's  leaving  them,  and 
settling  herself  as  Adrane  placed  her  chair  and 
sat  down;  "just  tell  me." 

He  demurred.     "It  would  only  tire  you." 

"Really — do  you  mind  being  scolded?  You 
mustn't  assume  everything." 

Adrane  regarded  her  apologetically.  "I  wish 
I  could  dance  better.  I  tired  you." 

"You  dance  very  well."  He  protested  he  did 
not.  "I  mean  it,"  insisted  Merrilie.  "It's  not 
quite  the  way  I'm  used  to,  that's  all,"  she  ex- 
plained. He  again  regretted  that  the  dance  hadn't 
gone  better.  "You  talk  about  tiring  me,"  com- 
plained Merrilie,  aware  of  his  self-conscious  con- 
ceit. "The  only  people  that  tire  me  are  those 
that  have  to  be  coaxed.  Isn't  it  just  like  a  man 
—I  mean  by  that,  perfectly  absurd — to  be  an- 
noyed at  not  catching  a  dance-step  he  never  tried 
before,  when  he  has  done  things  you've  done! 
Mercy,  but  men  are  vain,  aren't  they?  If  /  had 
built  a  bridge  across  a  mud  puddle  I  shouldn't 
care  if  I  couldn't  dance  the  Virginia  Reel." 

75 


Merrilie  Dawes 

She  settled  back  in  her  chair.  "Now  you'll  be 
angry  with  me,"  she  sighed,  doubtfully  content. 
Adrane  disclaimed  annoyance.  "Prove  that  you 
are  not,"  she  said,  "by  listening  to  some  of  my 
troubles — will  you?"  She  had  crossed  her  feet, 
and  in  the  half-lights  streaming  from  the  dance- 
room  Adrane  saw  them,  just  below  the  hem  of 
her  gown,  shod  in  pink  slippers  and  stockings. 
He  begged  her  to  go  on. 

"The  only  reason,"  he  exclaimed  parenthet- 
ically, "why  I'm  afraid  to  talk  about  steel  is 
because  there  is  nothing  to  it  but  iron  ore,  and 
coal,  coke-ovens,  furnaces,  and  rolling-mills — it 
wouldn't  be  interesting  to  a  woman." 

"More — "     Merrilie  hesitated  for  a  word. 

"Conceit,"  suggested  Adrane,  now  at  ease  again. 

"No,  assurance  this  time,"  corrected  Merrilie. 
"I've  always  been  keen  about  business  affairs. 
And  your  rivers  and  mountains  and  mills — they 
all  sound  as  if  they  might  be  extremely  interest- 
ing. And  you  remember  you  promised  to  tell 
me  more  some  time  about  the  railroad." 

"I  think,"  ventured  Adrane,  "it  was  you  who 
said  I  must,  some  time." 

"It  really  must  be  stunning  to  be  able  to  do 
such  a  thing.  Let's  move  over  a  little  out  of 
the  wind — do  you  mind?" 

Everything  she  said — whether  she  dictated  or 
76 


Merrilie  Dawes 

differed,  it  was  all  one — Adrane  found  interesting. 
"Now  for  your  trouble,"  he  suggested  after  he 
had  seated  her  within  the  shelter  of  a  dark  corner. 

"It's  a  terrible  mess,"  Merrilie  began.  "You'll 
have  to  help  me  because  I  know  less  than  nothing 
about  railroads.  And  I  don't  think  Mr.  Spruance 
or  Mr.  Havens  is  an  expert." 

"But  your  father  was " 

"Oh  dear,  no.  We  never  had  anything  as  ex- 
citing as  a  railroad  in  the  family.  Papa  always 
avoided  them;  but  it  had  to  be  my  ill  fortune  to 
get  tangled  up  in  one  almost  at  once.  Mr.  Spru- 
ance and  Mr.  Havens  bought  these  bonds  for  me. 
I  was  away  at  the  time — not  that  that  would  have 
made  any  difference.  But  on  that  account,  I  have 
told  them  frequently — well,  not  frequently,  but 
sometimes  —  to  use  their  own  judgment.  And 
here  you  have  built  another  railroad  across  the 
river  and  spoiled  mine  completely.  Isn't  it  ab- 
surd?" They  laughed  together.  Annie  and  Harry 
Drake,  sitting  at  a  distance,  heard  the  laugh,  but 
could  not  see  the  laughers. 

"If  I  had  only  known  you  were  interested," 
protested  Adrane. 

"That  wouldn't  have  made  any  difference." 
Merrilie  shook  her  head  with  an  assumed  gravity. 
"I  am  a  mere  estate.  Who  has  any  sympathy 
for  an  estate?"  Then  she  laughed  again,  low. 

77 


Merrilie  Dawes 

It  was  the  kind  of  a  laugh  to  suggest  mischief. 
"It's  too  late  to  undo  the  damage.  But — "  She 
knit  her  brows  in  a  semblance  of  perplexity  and 
looked  at  Adrane.  Merrilie  had  a  way  of  making 
her  eyes  and  words  appeal  together.  "Couldn't 
we  cajole  your  people,  don't  you  suppose,  into  a 
combination  or  consolidation — some  sort  of  cor- 
porate wickedness — to  operate  the  roads  in  a  way 
together?" 

Adrane,  who  could  see  the  expression  of  her  eyes 
even  in  the  darkness  of  the  corner,  responded  in 
answering  humor.  "Not  a  bad  idea.  Though  at 
first  thought  it  seems  awkward  to  work  out— — " 

"Why  so?  Just  use  the  two  lines  as  a  double 
track,  up  and  down  the  river.  Railroads  are 
always  begging  money  nowadays  for  double 
tracks,  aren't  they?  Here  is  the  double  track 
ready  made — "  Merrilie  set  up  her  two  hands  in 
diagram,  and  looked  appealingly  at  her  expert. 

"But,"  objected  Adrane,  "being  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  Mississippi  they  are  from  ten  to  fifteen 
miles  apart " 

Merrilie  nodded  undismayed.  "Precisely.  And, 
very  well;  run  all  the  trains  going  south  down 
the  west  side  of  the  river,  and  all  the  trains  going 
north  up  the  east  side  of  the  river.  That's  the 
purpose  of  a  double  track,  isn't  it — one-way 
traffic?  No  head-end  collisions?  It  seems  very 

78 


Merrilie  Dawes 

plain  to  me,  Mr.  Adrane" — Merrilie  assumed  an 
air — "that  public  safety  and  the  common  welfare 
of  the  people  demand  such  a  step.  Isn't  that 
what  all  these  promoters  say  when  they  have  a 
particularly  evil  scheme  to  put  across?"  she  asked 
innocently,  and  as  if  she  were  already  enjoying 
the  success  of  her  suggestion.  Adrane  seemed 
not  quite  clear  on  the  subject. 

Merrilie  saw  his  hesitation.  "Now  pray,"  she 
demanded,  "what's  the  difficulty?" 

"  Rather  a  grave  one,  I'm  afraid.  You  see,  these 
two  tracks  are  on  an  average  ten  miles  apart — 

"So  you  said." 

"Between  them  lies  what  poets,  and  sometimes 
engineers,  term  a  mighty  river." 

"Yes." 

"Let  us  suppose,  working  on  your  idea,  that  a 
man  living  in  a  small  town  on  the  west  side  of  the 
river  wants  to  visit  another  small  town  ten  miles 
farther  down — 

"I  understand." 
'He  takes  one  of  your  trains- 


"No,  on  the  west  side  of  the  Mississippi  he 
takes  one  of  your  trains." 

"As  you  will.  When  he  is  ready  to  go  home  he 
asks  for  a  train  back  and  finds  there  is  no  train 
running  back  on  that  side  of  the  river — don't  you 
see?  What  could  he  do?  It  would  be  like  run- 

79 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ning  all  the  trains  out  of  a  town  every  day  and 
running  none  back." 

"Not  at  all,"  contended  Merrilie  with  composure. 
"Your  trains  would  run  north  on  our  side  of  the 
river  and  ours  would  run  south  on  your  side." 

"But  my  passenger  would  have  to  loop  the  five- 
hundred-mile  railroad  loop  to  get  ten  miles  home 
again." 

Merrilie  regarded  Adrane  frankly.  "Remem- 
ber, we  must  all  of  us  at  times  give  up  slight  private 
advantages  to  secure  great  public  ones." 

Both  were  in  good  spirits.  Sounds  of  music 
came  from  the  inner  rooms.  Adrane  conscien- 
tiously reminded  Merrilie  of  her  engagement: 
"This  must  be  your  dance  with  Mr.  Drake." 

She  made  a  little  move  in  her  chair.  "He  will 
find  me.  Whereabouts  is  all  this  steel  you  are 
interested  in?" 

"About  thirty  miles  up  the  Steel  River,  at  Iron 
Mountain.  There  goes  Mr.  Drake  across  the 
floor  now." 

"And  where  does  all  the  steel  come  from," 
asked  Merrilie — "out  of  the  mountain?" 

"No,"  answered  Adrane  gravely,  "out  of  the 
furnaces.  He's  coming  this  way." 

Merrilie  looked  apprehensively  toward  the  as- 
sembly room.  "Let's  walk,"  she  suggested,  rising. 
"I  don't  care  about  dancing." 

80 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"It  isn't  too  cool  for  you?"  asked  Adrane  as 
they  turned  the  corner  of  the  balcony  into  the 
wind  from  the  sea.  Merrilie  shivered  slightly. 
"Get  my  wrap,"  she  said  with  the  most  innocent 
authority.  "I  left  it  on  the  chair." 

Adrane  in  retracing  his  steps  encountered 
Drake.  "Where  is  Merrilie?"  asked  Drake,  cav- 
alierly, Adrane  thought. 

"She  was  here  not  a  moment  ago,"  returned 
Adrane  evenly.  "Isn't  she  dancing?" 

Hardly  answering,  Drake  turned  on  his  heel. 
Adrane  picked  up  the  wrap  and  walked  around 
the  corner  to  where  Merrilie  stood,  laughing,  with 
her  back  and  hands  flattened  against  the  wall. 
"You  did  very  well,"  she  murmured,  thanking 
him  with  a  look  and  turning  for  him  to  place  the 
chiffon  across  her  shoulders.  "I  had  no  idea  you 
could  tell  stories." 

"I  didn't  have  to  tell  him  where  you  were," 
maintained  Adrane.  "He  didn't  work  hard 
enough  to  find  you,  that's  all.  If  I  had  an  en- 
gagement with  you  I'd  search  the  island  to  find 
you." 

"Be  careful.     I  might  put  you  to  a  test." 

"I  should  never  say  to  you  anything  I  didn't 
mean." 

She  looked  up.     "Why  not,  pray?" 

"You  don't  like  anything  but  the  truth." 
81 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  seemed  amused.  "No  one  ever  told 
me  that  before." 

"Isn't  it  so?" 

She  hesitated.  They  were  walking  where  they 
could  look  through  the  windows  at  the  dancers. 
"Truly,  I  don't  know."  She  arrested  him  to 
watch  the  dancing.  He  placed  himself  between 
her  and  the  sea  wind.  "That's  the  prettiest  step, 
isn't  it?"  she  said  in  low,  pleased  tones. 

"It's  the  one  we  were  trying,"  he  returned. 
"Too  bad  I  spoiled  it  for  you." 

"Why,  it's  as  easy  as  can  be,"  asserted  Merrilie. 
"I  can  teach  you  in  a  jiffy.  Here."  She  gathered 
the  skirt  of  her  gown  in  one  hand,  placed  her  feet 
for  him  to  watch,  and  took  the  simple  steps. 
"One,  two,  three,  four,  sidewise;  then,  one,  two, 
three,  four,  around;  then  zigzag;  then  whirl. 
Do  you  want  to  try?" 

Her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  up,  her  cheeks  were 
pink.  She  took  her  place  in  his  extended  arms. 
Back  and  forth  they  stepped,  Merrilie  flushed  with 
interest,  both  laughing  at  Adrane's  efforts  to  fol- 
low her  guiding.  He  broke  the  step.  She  made 
him  try  again.  He  failed  again,  and  she  kept 
him  trying.  In  another  moment  he  had  it.  "My 
feet  are  too  big,"  he  declared. 

"Not  at  all.  You  are  a  big  man,"  returned 
Merrilie,  still  guiding.  "You  shouldn't  want  small 
feet." 

82 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Let's  try  again,"  suggested  Adrane  when  they 
had  done,  not  releasing  her  from  his  arms. 

"Am  I  likely  to  get  caught?"  asked  Merrilie, 
looking  back  as  she  moved  unresistingly  on  with 
him. 

"No,"  returned  Adrane,  watchful  of  the  rhythm 
of  their  steps.  "Drake  is  dancing  again  with 
Annie." 

Merrilie  turned  her  head  from  his  shoulder  to 
look.  She  rested  with  perfect  ease  within  his  arm 
and  now  let  him  guide.  "So  he  is,"  she  assented, 
relieved.  "You  are  doing  beautifully.  I  like 
your  guiding  ever  so  much.  Some  time  we  will 
try  longer  steps  together." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A) RANK  returned  next  day  to  New  York 
with  Havens  and  Amos  Hamersley.  The 
Divide,  at  the  end  of  the  week,  brought  the  rest 
of  the  party  down  to  New  York,  and  Adrane  met 
the  boat  to  take  Annie  and  her  mother  home. 
When  the  Whitneys  parted  from  Merrilie  at  the 
pier  they  had  accepted  an  invitation,  one  which 
included  Adrane,  to  dine  with  her  the  following 
week. 

Mrs.  Whitney  had  clung  to  her  home  in  Madison 
Avenue,  a  narrow  but  inviting  and  skilfully  ar- 
ranged brick  house  in  a  very  good  block,  even 
after  her  husband's  death,  when  its  maintenance 
became  something  of  a  strain  on  her  diminished 
resources.  She  felt  clearly  for  the  interests  of  her 
daughters  the  need  of  such  a  background  as  her 
home  afforded.  Fanny's  marriage  to  Mr.  Havens 
alone  had  justified  the  effort  of  keeping  the  home 
up,  she  felt,  and  Annie's  engagement  to  quite  as 
promising  a  man  compensated  her  equally  for  an 
unpleasant  burden  of  expense. 

Adrane  left  on  business  for  Saint  Louis  on  the 
84 


Merrilie  Dawes 

night  of  Annie's  return  and  got  back  to  New  York 
on  the  day  of  Merrilie's  dinner.  When  he  arrived 
that  evening  in  Madison  Avenue  Annie  was  com- 
ing down-stairs.  Her  smile  for  him  was  framed  in 
white  maribou  that  rose  like  a  calyx  around  the 
glow  of  her  cheeks.  Adrane  followed  her  as  she 
walked  to  a  glass  in  the  half-lighted  reception- 
room.  She  resisted  his  caress  only  enough  to 
save  her_  flowers,  and,  surveying  her  gown  critically 
in  the  mirror  while  he  stood  by,  asked  him  about 
his  trip.  He  began  to  tell  her  something  of  what 
he  had  been  doing,  but  in  a  moment  she  excused 
him  from  the  recital  and,  studying  her  draperies, 
told  him  his  flowers  were  lovely.  "And,  John," 
she  added,  rearranging  them  at  her  waist,  "they 
gave  me  an  idea  for  the  car  interior.  I  believe  I 
should  like  a  sage-green  best." 

Adrane  conceived  no  objection  to  sage-green. 
And  if  his  interest  in  the  subject  of  decorating  the 
car  was  the  least  bit  tempered,  it  was  not  because 
the  green  did  not  appeal  to  him  but  because  the 
directors  had  done  nothing  about  authorizing  a 
car  for  the  president,  and  he  felt  delicate  about 
urging  a  request,  not  greatly  to  his  liking,  anyway. 
"Our  suite,"  Annie  added,  as  if  in  an  afterthought 
— and  fingering  her  neck  ornaments  somewhat 
restlessly  with  the  words,  "might  be  pink — the 
Pullman  people  could  give  us  a  white  enamel, 

85 


Merrilie  Dawes 

couldn't  they,  John?  Or  a  faded  rose  would  be 
pretty.  Don't  you  think  so,  mamma  ? "  she  asked, 
appealing  to  her  mother,  who  now  entered  the 
room.  "I  mean,  for  John's  suite  in  his  car." 

Mrs.  Whitney  had  advanced  toward  the  plump- 
ness of  middle  age  and  her  round,  soft  face,  into 
which  only  a  few  lines  had  yet  found  their  way, 
lighted  with  amusement  at  Annie's  appeal.  Even 
Mrs.  Whitney's  eyes,  though  of  a  not  overwarm 
gray — and  eyes  that  might  forebode  firmness  in 
difficulties — were  soft  in  expression,  and  her  voice, 
as  she  lightly  answered  Annie,  was  soft. 

"I  think,"  she  suggested  with  matronly  confi- 
dence, "that  John  very  likely  has  things  of  more 
importance  in  his  head  than  the  question  of  a 
color  scheme  for  his  car." 

Mrs.  Whitney,  in  whatever  angle  of  a  conversa- 
tion, took  Adrane's  part;  indeed,  she  qualified  well 
in  many  ways  as  a  prospective  mother-in-law. 
She  had  told  Adrane  very  prettily,  when  he  asked 
for  Annie's  hand,  that  having  been  denied,  long 
ago,  the  gift  of  a  son  to  supplement  her  happiness 
in  her  daughters,  she  hoped  to  gain  one  in  him, 
who  should  be  as  near  and  dear  to  her  as  her  own 
flesh  and  blood,  adding,  as  a  tribute  to  Adrane 
himself,  that  he  seemed  already  to  have  realized 
such  a  success  as  she  had  once  hoped  a  son  of  her 
own  might. 

86 


Merrilie  Dawes 

They  left  for  Merrilie's  in  Adrane's  motor-car. 
The  house  before  which  they  drew  up  stood  on  an 
ample  corner  in  a  block  and  a  neighborhood  fast 
losing  its  character  as  a  residence  district.  But 
the  Dawes  home  bore  a  substantial,  if  ineffectual, 
air  of  protest  against  the  invasion  of  business  all 
about  it.  It  was  a  long  and  high  house,  almost 
square,  and  its  wide  front  of  reddish-brown  sand- 
stone was  only  nominally  relieved  by  formal  plate- 
glass  windows.  It  bore  rather  a  worn  and  stern 
air,  as  if  wearied  by  city  dust  and  clamor,  but  it 
sustained  on  both  streets  a  still  uncompromised 
dignity.  Diagonally  across  the  avenue,  on  the 
northeast  corner,  rose  a  huge  hotel,  and  an  ama- 
zing office  building  towered  in  marble  across  the 
street  to  the  south.  The  south  half  of  the  avenue 
frontage  in  the  block,  the  site  of  a  range  of  resi- 
dences and  a  church,  had  also  been  acquired  by 
Richard  Dawes,  and  gave  his  estate  the  frontage 
of  the  street  to  the  south.  The  Dawes  home  it- 
self stood  as  the  solitary  survivor  of  an  earlier 
day  when  Merrilie's  mother  could  pick  flowers  in 
the  churchyard  and  gather  mushrooms  in  the 
meadow  where  the  hot-houses  stood.  Every  other 
important  residence  within  the  neighborhood  had 
been  either  abandoned  to  the  uses  of  trade,  or 
razed  to  make  way  for  modern  business  build- 
ings. 

87 


Merrilie  Dawes 

The  interior  of  Merrilie's  home,  into  which  Ad- 
rane  followed  Mrs.  Whitney  and  Annie,  was  as 
simply  designed  as  the  exterior.  Half-way  back 
in  the  hall,  proportioned  for  a  good  effect,  an  easy 
flight  of  returning  stairs  led  to  the  second  floor. 
On  the  left,  a  double  drawing-room  opened.  On 
the  right,  a  reception-room,  known  as  the  east 
room,  communicated  with  the  library;  back  of  this 
were  dining  and  breakfast  rooms. 

In  the  east  room,  Adrane  found  Harry  Drake, 
who  put  aside  a  cigarette  and  summoned  a  smile 
to  meet  him.  The  two  were  trying  to  talk,  with 
the  effort  of  men  naturally  antagonistic,  when 
Adrane  heard  footsteps  tripping  down  the  muffled 
stairs  in  the  hall.  He  heard  them  then  advancing 
with  a  pleasing  swiftness  and  in  a  moment  turned 
to  see  Merrilie  standing  in  the  doorway. 

Drake  hastened  forward,  but  Merrilie,  not  un- 
willing to  annoy  Drake  and  remembering  her 
duties  of  hospitality,  turned  to  Adrane.  Her  eyes, 
he  noticed  again,  were  quite  unlike  Annie's,  but  he 
was  at  once  too  engaged  in  Merrilie's  words  to 
analyze  them. 

An  elderly  lady  clad  in  black  silk  and  with  a 
head  of  snow-white  hair  entered  with  Mrs.  Whit- 
ney and  Annie.  This  was  Merrilie's  aunt,  Mrs. 
Jane  Bidwell,  whom  he  had  met  at  Crossrips. 
Mrs.  Bidwell  glided  in  her  walk,  and  her  features 


Merrilie  Dawes 

were  normally  composed  in  solemnity.  Her  greet- 
ing of  Adrane  was  solemn  and  her  words  were  few. 
Drake  as  an  old  acquaintance  seemed  to  get  on 
with  her,  but  Adrane,  after  some  efforts  to  pene- 
trate her  manner  of  state,  gave  up.  He  could  not, 
however,  sitting  at  her  right  hand  at  dinner,  es- 
cape the  sensation  of  being  under  inspection. 
Even  Merrilie  seemed  inclined  to  scrutinize  him  as 
a  new  arrival  in  the  circle,  though  she  was  ob- 
viously not  disposed  to  reduce  the  process  to  one 
of  cruelty.  Adrane,  too,  regarded  Merrilie,  at  the 
foot  of  the  table,  with  the  interest  we  naturally 
attach  to  persons  unusually  situated  in  life.  In- 
deed, Merrilie  possessed  for  all  of  her  friends  this 
interest.  And  as  those  whom  we  frequently  hear 
discussed,  before  having  met  them,  commonly 
disappoint  our  preconceptions,  Merrilie  disap- 
pointed Adrane's — not  only  in  her  background  but 
in  herself. 

After  hearing  her  so  much  talked  about,  he  dis- 
missed from  his  mind  with  difficulty  the  idea  of  a 
ruddy,  vigorous,  confident  American  girl.  Instead 
of  being  tanned  and  rugged,  Merrilie  was  white 
and  slender.  Everything  about  her  lent  itself  to 
femininity.  The  candle-light  softened  her  face, 
which  yet  struck  him  as  too  slender,  and  her  hair, 
worn  low  on  her  forehead,  contributed  to  soften 
her  features,  though  in  this  lay  a  feminine  touch 

89 


Merrilie  Dawes 

beyond  Adrane's  ken.  She  had  her  father's 
straight,  fine  nose;  from  his  portrait,  hanging  be- 
hind Merrilie,  Adrane  perceived  how  perfectly  it 
had  been  feminized  without  losing  anything  of 
distinction.  And  her  eyebrows,  arching  above 
composed  eyes,  gave  her  countenance  an  open 
expression;  though  this  her  mental  attitude  did 
not  always  confirm.  Merrilie,  Mrs.  Whitney 
had  said,  could  keep  her  own  counsel;  and  her 
Aunt  Jane  would  always  add,  she  could  find 
more  reasons  than  one  for  having  her  own 
way. 

Annie,  during  the  dinner,  fell  to  recalling  ju- 
venile days  with  Merrilie,  and  their  escapades  to- 
gether, from  the  trip  Merrilie  once  took  her  on 
to  all  the  near  candy  stores,  asking  for  absinthe 
because  she  thought  it  was  candy,  to  Merrilie's 
showing  her  how  to  ring  the  door-bells  of  the 
houses  next  the  church  and  escape  without  get- 
ting caught. 

"Lovely  reputation  you  are  giving  me  before 
Mr.  Adrane,"  said  Merrilie.  "You  might  have  left 
some  of  the  worst  things  till  another  time." 

"Oh,  I  have,"  cried  Annie  joyously,  "haven't  I, 
Aunt  Jane?" 

"I  have  a  story  myself,"  interposed  Drake. 

Merrilie  affected  a  look  of  resignation:  "See 
what  it  is  to  have  candid  friends." 

90 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Drake  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Whitney. 
"One  day  she  rigged  up  as  an  old  lady — " 

"Too  easy  to  do,"  murmured  Merrilie  paren- 
thetically. 

" — with  bonnet,  veil,  spectacles,  and  curls,  and 
made  a  formal  call  on  her  father.  Kennedy  took 
an  old  card  from  her  at  the  door  without  a  ques- 
tion, ushered  her  in,  and  Mr.  Dawes  came  down. 
She  pretended  to  be  a  distant  Virginia  cousin  so- 
liciting subscriptions  for  a  young  ladies'  school, 
and  talked  so  well  about  the  people  her  father 
used  to  know  as  a  boy  he  told  her  he  would  have 
a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars  mailed  to  her  in- 
stitution. At  this  his  distant  cousin  sprang  to 
her  delighted  feet  and  began  dancing  the  High- 
land fling — a  dance  of  Merrilie's  that  her  father 
was  very  fond  of.  She  tossed  the  bonnet  and 
wig  at  him — " 

"Harry  Drake!"  cried  Merrilie.  "What  a 
story!" 

; — and  while  he  stood   petrified  with  wrath, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him." 

Merrilie  flushed  as  Adrane,  laughing,  looked  at 
her.  "Heavens!  How  that  innocent  caper  grows 
with  age!"  she  said  resignedly. 

"We  certainly  have  had  good  times  in  this 
house,"  sighed  Annie.  "And  I'm  crazy  to  see 
your  Paris  home,  Merrilie." 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I've  been  trying  for  a  year  to  get  you  over  to 
see  it,"  returned  Merrilie. 

"What's  it  like?"  demanded  Mrs.  Whitney  in- 
quisitively. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell.     Come  and  see." 

"Oh,  I  hope  we  can,"  said  Annie.  "John  is 
going  to  London  on  business  pretty  soon." 

Merrilie  looked  at  Adrane.  "That  is  your 
chance,"  said  she.  And  to  Annie:  "Make  him 
take  you  over." 

"I've  made  up  my  mind  I'm  going  to,"  an- 
nounced Annie. 

"The  French  house,"  interposed  Aunt  Jane, 
breaking  in  with  a  harsh  voice  on  the  gayety, 
"isn't  nearly  so  attractive  as  this." 

"  But  please,  auntie,  dear,  don't  refer  to  it  as  if 
it  were  an  industrial  establishment.  No  house 
could  be  as  nice  as  this,"  assented  Merrilie  without 
reserve.  "But  New  York  isn't  Paris — in  every 
way;  and,  as  Edith  says,  here,  we  can't  see  all  the 
world  going  to  the  Bois." 

"I  don't  really  comprehend,  Merrilie,  how  you 
stand  this  big  house  any  longer,"  observed  Mrs. 
Whitney  in  a  frankly  positive  way.  "I  should 
think  it  would  get  on  your  nerves.  Some  day  you 
will  sell  it,"  she  prophesied.  "Then  we  shall  see 
a  sky-scraper  here." 

"Never!"  exclaimed  Merrilie  indignantly.  "I 
92 


Merrilie  Dawes 

will  never  sell  it.  Merciful  heaven !  What  have  I 
but  my  home?  I  lose  my  patience  on  the  subject 
when  I  am  pressed  too  far.  An  old  Wall  Street 
friend  of  father's,  Henry  Benjamin,  began  writing 
me  about  it  last  winter.  For  a  long  time  I 
wouldn't  answer  him;  but  he  became  so  insistent 
I  had  to,  and  I  was  very  short  indeed.  Then  what 
do  you  think  he  did?  Came  over  to  beg  me  to 
name  a  price  on  the  block.  I  told  him  never  to 
write  to  me  or  speak  to  me  again  of  the  subject 
under  any  circumstances.  I  was  almost  rude. 
But  he  said  I  was  right  to  keep  this  block,  though 
for  very  different  reasons  from  those  that  appealed 
to  me." 

"Mr.  Benjamin,"  said  her  aunt,  rebuking  Mer- 
rilie for  evading  particulars,  "told  you  if  you 
ever  needed  money  you  could  raise  it  on  this  prop- 
erty when  you  couldn't  on  government  bonds." 

Aunt  Jane,  still  protesting,  turned  her  solemn 
eyes  on  Mrs.  Whitney:  "I  have  done  all  7  could 
to  induce  Merrilie  to  get  rid  of  the  place.  It  is 
a  terrible  burden." 

"Burden,  yes,"  agreed  Merrilie;  "but  this  is  not 
a  'place' — it's  a  home.  And  as  for  being  a  burden, 
when  we  rid  ourselves  of  all  our  burdens  there's 
nothing  left  to  live  for.  And  when  every  other  ex- 
cuse fails  me,  I  tell  Aunt  Jane  we  must  stand  by  it 
as  long  as  Kennedy,  father's  old  favorite,  lives.  It 

93 


Merrilie  Dawes 

would  break  his  heart  to  see  this  house  torn  down. 
He  won't  go  to  Paris;  he  won't  even  cross  to  Ire- 
land for  a  visit.  He  simply  won't  hear  of  leaving 
New  York;  isn't  it  odd  ?  I  have  repeatedly  offered 
to  buy  or  build  a  home  for  him  farther  up-town. 
He  only  smiles  feebly:  'This  is  the  only  house  I 
shall  ever  want,  Miss  Merrilie.  Sure,  it  will  out- 
last me!'  I  fancy  he  spends  half  his  time  praying 
for  father." 

"And  when  he  isn't  doing  that,"  declared  Mrs. 
Whitney,  "he  is  praying  for  a  husband  for  you." 

Merrilie  supported  the  laugh  good-naturedly. 
"I  tell  him,  that  is  the  real  test,"  she  confessed, 
and  her  cheeks  reflected  a  touch  of  color  again. 
"If  he  can  put  that  over,  as  Harry  expresses  it, 
I  shall  believe  his  prayers  worth  while — though 
I  am  sceptical  of  miracles.  He  certainly  was 
deeply  attached  to  my  father,  as  we  are  to  him. 
How  can  I  help  being?  I  never  knew  any  face 
but  his  behind  mother's  or  Aunt  Jane's  chair." 

Adrane  found  himself  listening  with  interest  to 
all  of  the  chatter.  He  marked  Merrilie's  manner. 
Her  indifference,  at  times,  to  what  others  urged 
hinted  of  the  headstrong  creature  he  had  heard  of. 
And  again,  though  Merrilie  seemed  persistent  she 
was  almost  timid  in  her  manner  of  persistence — 
sometimes  even  appealing.  But  whatever  else, 
she  was  not  uncertain.  When  the  talk  turned  to 

94 


Merrilie  Dawes 

motoring,  Merrilie  told  two  stories :  One,  of  an  ex- 
perience with  the  Hamersleys  in  a  sand-storm  in 
the  Texas  Panhandle;  the  other  of  an  encounter 
with  a  "borer"  wind  in  getting  away  once  from 
the  Adriatic  with  Edith  and  her  brother-in-law, 
Guido  Mocenigo.  She  recommended  to  Adrane 
for  the  Continent,  English  drivers. 

When  her  guests  were  leaving,  Merrilie  had 
a  little  conference  with  Annie  about  an  engage- 
ment. 

With  Mrs.  Whitney  and  Adrane  standing  by, 
the  two  girls  talked  in  the  hall.  A  collie  dog 
descending  the  broad  stairs  at  the  rear  attracted 
Adrane's  attention. 

Half-way  down  the  dog  stopped  and  stood  in 
silence  surveying  the  group  before  him.  His  dig- 
nity arrested  Adrane's  eye.  While  the  women 
continued  to  talk,  Adrane  spoke  to  the  dog  and 
Merrilie  turned.  "Do  you  like  collies?"  she 
asked. 

"Very  much." 

She  extended  her  hand  and  the  dog  walked 
slowly  down  the  stairs  and  came  forward.  He  was 
tall  and  rangy,  a  sable  with  white  feet.  "I  have 
a  little  kennel  of  them,"  Merrilie  said. 

"I  know,"  assented  Adrane,  laying  his  hand  on 
the  dog's  head  as  the  latter  reached  his  mistress's 
side.  Annie  shrank  back  when  the  collie  turned 

95 


Merrilie  Dawes 

her  way:  "Go  away,  dear,  do.  Merrilie's  dogs 
never  like  me,"  she  remarked  apprehensively. 

"Which  is  one  way  of  saying  you  don't  like 
Merrilie's  dogs,"  suggested  her  hostess  tolerantly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,  every  one  of  them,  Merrilie. 
But  I  prefer  lap-dogs,  naturally.  We  stopped  to- 
night at  Madison  Square  to  see  the  Pomera- 
nians." 

Merrilie  turned  to  Adrane.  He  noticed  the 
pearls  on  her  neck  and  the  pinkness  of  her  skin. 
"You  are  interested  in  dogs?"  she  said. 

"Not  in  lap-dogs.  The  only  dogs  I  really  care 
for  are  out  of  favor  just  now." 

"What  are  they?" 

"Collies." 

"But  I'm  afraid  of  such  big  dogs,"  objected 
Annie.  "John  has  a  whole  lot  of  collies  himself." 

"Have  you?"  said  Merrilie,  looking  at  Adrane. 
"We  must  compare  notes." 

He  was  prompt,  Merrilie  thought,  with  his  re- 
turn: "When  shall  it  be?" 

She  laughed.  "Oh — some  time.  Annie,  dear" 
— the  party  moved  toward  the  vestibule — "don't 
forget  Wednesday,  at  twelve." 


96 


CHAPTER  IX 

A)RANE,  responding  to  an  urgent  telephone 
message  from  Annie  one  afternoon  not  long 
afterward,  stopped  in  on  his  way  up-town  and 
found  Merrilie  with  her. 

*'  We've  been  waiting  an  hour  for  you,  John. 
You  know  I've  told  Merrilie  about  your  trip  to 
London.  And  what  do  you  think  she  has  invited 
us  to  do — mother  and  me?  You'll  never  in  the 
world  guess.  To  go  over  with  you  and  take  her 
Paris  home  for  a  month " 

"No,  for  as  long  as  you  like,"  corrected  Mer- 
rilie. "But  if  Mr.  Adrane  is  coming  back  so 
soon " 

"I  shall  be  gone  hardly  three  weeks,"  inter- 
posed Adrane.  ^ 

"I  thought  that  Annie,"  continued  Merrilie, 
speaking  to  Adrane,  "would  not  consider  a  longer 
definite  stay." 

"I  could  do  all  my  shopping,  John,"  exclaimed 
Annie. 

"And  I  will  run  over  to  Paris  with  you — or, 
better,  follow  you  when  I  get  through  in  Lon- 
don," suggested  Adrane. 

97 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Annie's  delight  was  unrestrained.  "Ernesto  is 
dying  to  get  back,"  continued  Merrilie.  "He  and 
Bianca  will  open  the  house,  and  Ernesto  does  ex- 
cellently for  a  courier.  It's  very  easy." 

Annie  looked  at  Adrane  from  under  pretty  eye- 
lashes. "John,  I  am  awfully  ashamed  for  the 
way  I  scolded  you  yesterday."  She  pouted  ap- 
pealingly  with  her  apology.  Merrilie,  laughing, 
looked  at  her  and  then  at  Adrane.  He  seemed 
embarrassed. 

"You  didn't  scold  me,"  he  said,  deprecatingly, 
as  if  to  dismiss  reference  to  the  incident.  "You 
were  merely  disappointed.  It  was  too  bad,"  he 
continued,  explaining  to  Merrilie,  "to  have  to 
leave  town  and  upset  all  her  arrangements  for 
next  month." 

"I  know  you  couldn't  help  it,  but  I  was  awfully 
disappointed,"  confessed  Annie,  settling  back. 

"It's  a  business  trip,  of  course,"  suggested  Mer- 
rilie consolingly. 

"One  I  can't  avoid,"  explained  Adrane.  "We 
were  speaking  the  other  night  of  the  West  Shore 
Railroad." 

"I  remember,"  returned  Merrilie. 

"Well,  it's  about  that,"  said  Adrane  briefly. 
"But  this  kindness  of  yours  puts  a  new  aspect  on 
the  trip.  We  will  make  the  business  more  than 
half  pleasure." 

98 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  was  awfully  bad,  John,"  insisted  Annie  peni- 
tently, "wasn't  I?"  Adrane  again  showed  embar- 
rassment. "And  you  were  kind  of  bad,  too,  John." 

Merrilie  picked  up  an  antique  ring-box  from  the 
table  and  held  it  toward  Adrane.  "Don't  you 
think  that's  pretty?" 

He  took  the  box  in  his  hand.     "What  is  it?" 

"Just  a  ring  and  trinket  box." 

"But  conspicuously  beautiful,"  he  said,  exam- 
ining it. 

"It  would  make  a  stunning  puff-box,"  sug- 
gested Annie. 

"Oh,  Annie,"  protested  Adrane,  "a  puff-box! 
What  a  beautiful  woman!"  he  added,  studying 
the  profile  portrait  relieved  on  the  silver  cover. 
"What  a  cool,  restful  neck!"  He  looked  at  Mer- 
rilie. "Can  you  make  out  the  inscription?" 

"John,  let  that  woman  go;  forget  her!"  ex- 
claimed Annie.  "John  will  go  crazy  sometimes 
about  a  woman  that's  been  dead  hundreds  of 
years,"  she  confided  to  Merrilie,  toward  whom 
Adrane  had  drawn  his  chair  to  decipher  the  text 
around  the  portrait. 

"She  was  Joanna  Albiza  uxor  Laurentii  de 
Tornabonis,"  Merrilie  read.  "Isn't  she  quaint? 
I  am  like  you."  She  looked  at  Adrane.  "I 
should  like  to  lift  Joanna  Albiza  right  off  the  box 
and  make  her  speak.  Annie  and  I  have  a  dis- 

99 


Merrilie  Dawes 

pute."  Merrilie  sat  back  in  her  chair.  "You 
decide  it,  Mr.  Adrane.  I  want  to  give  her  a  box 
something  like  this,  and  I  wanted  her  portrait  on 
the  cover.  She  wants  mine  there.  Don't  you 
think  it  should  be  hers?" 

"I  should  say  so  beautiful  a  gift  should  recall 
the  giver,"  decided  Adrane. 

Merrilie  frowned  amiably.  "But  you  don't 
understand." 

Annie  sighed.  "John,  dear,  you  are  very 
stupid." 

"You  see,"  Merrilie  went  on,  "it  is  to  commem- 
orate a  certain  happy  event  in  your  lives.  It  is 
a  nuptuale,  and  will  bear,  or  should,  an  inscription 
such  as  this:  'Anna,  wife  of  John  Adrane." 
Merrilie  swept  a  little  curve  with  her  finger  and 
arched  her  head  the  least  bit  as  she  regarded  the 
box-cover.  "What  would  be  the  sense  in  setting 
my  portrait  there?" 

"I  know  I  am  stupid,"  returned  Adrane.  "I 
thought  the  box  should  bear  your  portrait,  even  if 
it  changed  the  idea  a  little.  I  thought,  too,  I 
might  get  your  permission  to  duplicate  the  box 
with  Annie's  portrait,  and  give  it  to  her  myself." 

"John,  you  are  too  thoughtful,"  cried  Annie; 
"Merrilie  won't  refuse  you  that." 

But  Merrilie  pondered.  "No,"  she  said,  "I've 
a  better  idea  yet.  I'll  have  both  your  profiles 

100 


Merrilie  Dawes 

put  on  the  box.  And  the  text  shall  run:  'Anna 
and  John  Adrane.'  And  you  can  have  the 
reliefs  made  when  you  are  in  Paris — at  Viola's, 
Annie.  I  haven't  told  you  I've  promised  Mrs. 
Hamersley  for  a  yachting  trip — only  for  a  week  or 
ten  days,  along  the  coast." 

Merrilie  left  town  first.  Amos  Hamersley  not 
only  could  not  be  persuaded  to  be  of  the  yachting 
party,  but  growled  at  his  wife's  going.  "I  think 
it  my  duty  to  do  something,  Amos,"  contended 
Mrs.  Hamersley  with  dignity.  "I  take  it  that 
Harry  Drake  is  making  his  final  effort — for  Mer- 
rilie, I  mean." 

Amos  scowled.  "Merrilie  doesn't  care  a  rap 
for  that  fellow." 

"That  of  course  remains  to  be  seen.  His  sister 
suggested  the  idea,  so  I  suppose  this  trip  is  to  en- 
courage Harry  to  make  one  last  dead-set.  Let  us 
hope  he  will  do  so.  I  am  getting  frankly  tired  of 
travelling  the  land  and  sea  to  spur  two  people  up 
to  marrying.  Yet,  now  that  I've  provided  nicely 
for  Annie,  I  hate  to  desert  Merrilie  and  Harry. 
Merrilie  ought  to  marry  him." 

"Why?"  blurted  Amos. 

"To  oblige  him,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hamersley. 
"And  to  oblige  those  of  us  who  chase  around  the 
country  fiddling  away  our  time  to  give  him  a 
chance." 

101 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Kate,"  asserted  Amos,  subdued  but  not  con- 
vinced, "you  have  no  sense." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  tossed  her  head  in  a  leisurely 
way.  "Oh,  I  have,  Amos.  But  I  don't  always 
show  it.  Remember,  I  married  you.  Merrilie 
is  not  young,  and  she  ought  to  be  thinking." 

"Merrilie  has  perennial  youth  on  her  side  as 
long  as  she  keeps  her  money — and  Merrilie  is  too 
long-headed  ever  to  let  that  get  away  from 
her." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  lifted  her  chin.  "Harry  also 
has  an  estate." 

Amos  pooh-poohed  the  suggestion.  "The  coun- 
try is  full  of  estates  like  Harry's." 

Nevertheless,  Amos  did  not  disguise  his  interest 
in  the  question  of  Harry  Drake's  success.  Mrs. 
Hamersley  came  back  home  with  rheumatism. 
"And  what  about  Drake  and  Merrilie?"  demanded 
her  husband. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Mrs.  Hamersley  to  as- 
sume the  defensive,  she  maintained  it.  "Merrilie 
never  looked  better  in  her  life.  And  Harry  cer- 
tainly never  was  wittier.  The  weather  was  divine, 
Amos.  Merrilie  and  Harry  just  lived  on  the 
deck.  They  seemed  to  have  a  very  good  time." 

"But  a  very  good  time,"  returned  Amos,  snatch- 
ing the  weakness  of  his  wife's  last  words,  "doesn't 
cook  anybody's  goose.  Did  they  come  to  terms?" 

102 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Mrs.  Hamersley  raised  her  head.  "Harry  de- 
clared himself,  I  believe." 

"And  she  said  'No'?" 

"She  did  not  say 'No.'" 

"Ha!  accepted  him!" 

Mrs.  Hamersley  set  her  head.     "In  a  way,  yes." 

"In  what  way  did  she  accept  him?"  demanded 
her  husband,  feverishly. 

"She  accepted  him — provisionally." 

Amos  started.  "Provisionally!  What  do  you 
mean?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Amos,  don't  press  me  too  closely.  Merrilie 
told  him  if  she  ever  changed  her  mind,"  Mrs. 
Hamersley  let  the  words  sink  in  slowly,  "she 
would  marry  him." 

At  this  announcement  Amos  blew  up;  at  least, 
his  hands  and  feet  indicated  an  explosion.  "You 
call  that  accepting  him  provisionally!  Why, 
Kate,  any  woman  on  earth  could  tell  any  man 
that,"  thundered  her  husband,  "without  caring  a 
straw  for  him." 

"Amos,  you  are  the  most  discerning  man  I 
ever  saw,"  half-lisped  his  wife  softly.  "There  is 
really  no  use  trying  to  hide  anything  from  men. 
They  just  jump  at  the  truth  even  when  you  are 
most  careful  not  to  convey  the  slightest  inkling 
of  it." 

"Who  told  you  this  important  news?" 
103 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Julia." 

"What  did  Harry  say  when  she  told  him  if  she 
changed  her  mind  she  would  marry  him?"  asked 
Hamersley  grimly. 

"He  got  mad." 

"Humph!  Harry  got  mad;  you  got  the  rheu- 
matism. And  Merrilie?" 

"Escaped  the  fowler's  snare." 

"Nobody  will  snare  that  girl.  Harry  might  as 
well  stop  burning  coal  to  get  her.  She's  too  smart 
for  all  of  them,"  declared  Amos  definitively. 

Adrane  was  back  from  London  and  Paris  soon 
after  Merrilie's  return.  Without  waiting  for  an 
appointment  he  called  on  her  with  messages  from 
Annie.  Merrilie  received  him  in  the  room  in 
which  he  had  first  met  her.  She  was  expecting 
Harry  Drake,  but  gave  no  sign  of  impatience  at 
Adrane's  unlooked-for  arrival.  His  pleasant  im- 
pressions were  renewed  the  moment  he  took  her 
hand.  Perhaps  it  was  a  merely  personal  attract- 
iveness— a  spontaneous,  open  cordiality  that 
pleased;  perhaps  the  atmosphere  of  the  high- 
ceilinged  rooms,  which  preserved  a  stateliness  of 
background  and  gave  Merrilie  a  setting.  She 
looked  even  better,  Adrane  thought,  than  when 
he  had  seen  her  before,  and  the  slenderness  of 
her  cheeks  when  they  were  warmed,  as  now,  with 
pink,  was  not  unattractive.  The  thought  of  her 

104 


Merrilie  Dawes 

alone  in  her  surroundings  lent  interest  to  her. 
Her  inherited  responsibilities,  her  realization  of 
them — her  ready  understanding  and  her  ample 
fund  of  inconsequent  anecdote  for  laughter,  all 
were  engaging. 

"You  really  liked  my  little  house?"  asked  Mer- 
rilie doubtingly,  after  the  messages  had  been  given 
and  the  voyage  and  Annie  discussed. 

"You  can  hardly  call  your  Paris  house  little," 
Adrane  glanced  about  the  room,  "except  in  com- 
parison with  this." 

Merrilie's  eyes  followed  his  as  if  anticipating 
the  familiar  objection.  "I  know,"  she  said;  and 
then  sinking  back  as  if  momentarily  abstracted, 
"but  I  can't  help  clinging  to  it." 

"You  are  absolutely  right  to  cling  to  it,"  de- 
clared Adrane. 

Merrilie  revived.  "Do  you  really  think  so? 
Every  one  else  discourages  me.  They  think  me 
perverse.  I  shall  remember  your  approval.  You 
certainly  are  not  unpractical." 

"I  don't  know  about  that 

"Oh,  you  can't  be!  You  are  all  business,  Mrs. 
Hamersley  says.  And  I  hear  there  is  something 
new  in  the  papers  almost  every  day  about  the 
Steel  Company.  Can  you  really  make  steel 
cheaper  than  anybody  else,  as  Mr.  Hamersley 
insists?" 

105 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"The  ore  and  coal  in  our  properties  lie  closer 
together  than  anywhere  else." 

"I  hear  your  stocks  are  advancing  at  a  marvel- 
lous rate." 

"We  have  great  advantages  in  low-cost  produc- 
tion— and,  of  course,"  he  smiled  apologetically, 
"great  confidence  in  our  future." 

"But  your  ore  is  all  soft,  isn't  it?  I  remember 
the  beautiful,  black  hard  ores  of  the  Marquette 
region.  I  suppose  you  are  behind  this  vigorous 
movement  to  put  up  the  price  of  your  securities?" 

Adrane  answered  quizzically.  "Some  of  us 
think  they  should  sell  higher." 

Merrilie  shook  her  head  with  good-humored  vex- 
ation. "You  are  bound  you  won't  talk  about  it 
— when  the  town  is  talking  about  you  and  what 
you  are  doing." 

"But  market  business  is  rather  prosy  for 
women." 

"Not  a  bit.  I  love  market  operations,  only  I 
should  be  deathly  afraid  of  getting  fleeced  if  I 
ever  speculated." 

"Better  you  shouldn't."  Adrane,  in  giving  ad- 
vice, seemed  to  gain  in  ease.  "Of  course,"  he 
continued,  "I  could  talk  all  day  about  coal  and 
steel.  I  can  get  wildly  enthusiastic  even  over 
iron  ore  and  open-hearth  furnaces,  but  I  can't  ex- 
pect everybody  else  to.  Tell  me,  where  did  you 
ever  hear  of  Marquette  ores?" 

106 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Father  and  I  and  the  Hamersleys  cruised  Lake 
Superior  one  summer.  All  you  hear  up  there  is 
about  iron  and  copper." 

"I  wish  you  could  see  what  we  have.  We  run 
in  a  string  of  cars  and  load  an  ore  train  with  a 
steam-shovel.  When  I  get  started  talking  about 
it  I  can't  stop." 

"Don't,"  urged  Merrilie,  laughing  with  him. 
"I  want  to  hear  everything." 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "what  have  you  done 
about  the  bonds  that  you  told  me  of?" 

Merrilie  made  a  helpless  movement.  "Noth- 
ing. I  don't  believe  the  committee  knows  any 
more  about  reorganizing  the  road  than  I  do.  And 
the  receiver  is  a  government  politician." 

"Too  bad.  And  you  are  the  largest  single  bond- 
holder." 

"I  did  not  say  that." 

"Mrs.  Whitney  told  me,  I  think." 

"Oh,  did  she?"  Merrilie's  face  expressed  re- 
signed annoyance.  "Mr.  Adrane,"  she  asked  sud- 
denly, "what  are  you  operating  your  road  for, 
on  your  side  of  the  river?" 

"Fifty-four  per  cent,"  answered  Adrane,  some- 
what surprised  at  the  question. 

Merrilie  lifted  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 
"And  it  costs  us  from  sixty-four  to  seventy. 
Think  of  it!" 

107 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Of  course,"  explained  Adrane,  "our  big  rev- 
enue now  is  ore  traffic." 

"Still,  that  is  one-way  traffic,"  suggested  Mer- 
rilie. 

Adrane  stopped.  "You  must  have  been  quiz- 
zing me  that  night  about  running  passenger- 
trains  up  one  side  of  the  river  and  down  the 
other,"  he  said  after  an  instant.  Merrilie's  little 
laugh  committed  her  neither  to  assent  nor  denial. 
"How  do  you  come  to  know,"  he  asked,  "about 
operating  percentages  and  one-way  traffic?  You 
must  be  an  expert  in  disguise." 

Merrilie  was  still  laughing.  "Nonsense,"  she 
said  lightly;  "I  don't  know  anything  about  rail- 
road operation.  I  hear  Mr.  Hamersley  discuss 
it,  that's  all.  Now  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 
She  assumed  an  inquisitorial  air.  "How  came 
you  to  know  I  had  a  kennel  of  collies?" 

"Through  a  humiliating  experience." 

"A  humiliating  experience?"  echoed  Merrilie, 
leaning  forward.  "How  could  my  liking  for  collies 
possibly  involve  you  in  a  humiliating  experience?" 

Adrane  seemed  in  no  wise  averse  to  explaining. 
"Three  years  ago  I  thought  I  knew  something 
about  collies.  I  had  bred  them  for  some  time  in 
the  West.  I  entered  my  best  hope  at  Madison 
Square,  in  the  novice  class,  with  every  confidence 
of  capturing  the  blue  ribbon.  I  invited  all  my 

1 08 


Merrilie  Dawes 

friends  down  to  see  my  dog.  Imagine  my  feelings 
when  the  ribbon  went  to  a  dog  entered  by — " 
Adrane  stopped  as  if  to  let  Merrilie  finish.  But 
she  did  not  end  the  sentence  for  him. 

"By  whom?"  she  asked. 

"Even  the  winner  has  forgotten!"  he  exclaimed. 
Merrilie  opened  her  eyes  and  lifted  her  hands  as 
the  explanation  flashed  over  her.  "Entered,"  re- 
peated Adrane,  "by  you." 

"How  perfectly  ridiculous!"  she  exclaimed,  sink- 
ing back.  "How  did  it  happen?  I  hope  the 
judges  weren't  bribed.  Was  it  a  bad  decision? 
Mercy!  What  can  I  do?" 

"I  didn't  expect  then  ever  to  have  as  good  a 
laugh  as  this  out  of  it,"  returned  Adrane.  "Why, 
no,  I  don't  suppose  it  was  a  bad  decision — it  was 
just  a  development  in  breeding.  I  had  held  out 
for  a  moderately  broad  muzzle  and,  I  thought, 
more  intelligence  as  against  the  fashionable  needle 
type.  I  don't  agree  with  the  breeders  at  all." 

Merrilie  knit  her  brows  for  a  moment  and 
looked  at  Adrane  reflectively.  "Neither  do  I," 
she  assented;  "but  I  am  a  slavist.  I  am  trying 
to  think,"  she  continued.  "You  see,  I've  been  at 
home  very  little  for  some  years.  I  did  use  to  ex- 
hibit; but  they  began  to  talk  about  me  as  a  *  dog- 
fancier'  and  printed  pretended  photographs  show- 
ing me  with  my  arms  around  a  dog's  neck,  so  I 

109 


Merrilie  Dawes 

gave  it  all  up.  But  Mr.  Tilden  likes  dogs,  and  it 
must  have  been  that  year — he  exhibited  once  in 
my  absence.  That's  the  way  it  happened,  I  am 
sure.  He  sent  me  an  armful  of  yellow  newspa- 
pers with  pictures  of  the  dogs  and  the  mistress 
of  the  kennel!  I  wrote  him,  'Never  again." 

Harry  Drake  was  announced. 

Merrilie,  after  greeting  him,  turned  to  allow  him 
to  speak  to  Adrane.  Drake  regarded  her  visitor 
stiffly. 

The  awkward  instant  was  broken  by  Adrane 
himself,  who  spoke  at  once.  Merrilie  concealed 
her  resentment  and  tried  to  lead  the  conversation. 
But  after  her  efforts  had  obviously  dragged,  she 
settled  back  to  a  restrained  annoyance.  Adrane 
broke  the  situation  by  taking  his  leave.  Merrilie 
followed  him  into  the  hall.  The  two  were  at  ease 
again  in  an  instant.  "And  you  really  are  opera- 
ting for  fifty-four  per  cent?"  Merrilie  murmured, 
professing  to  marvel. 

Adrane  looked  at  her  as  if  uncertain  whether  she 
was  making  game  of  him.  Her  face  betrayed 
nothing  beyond  the  import  of  her  words.  "I 
don't  know  whether  you  are  joking  or  not,"  he 
returned. 

She  frowned  a  denial.  "Joking!  I  could  talk  an 
hour  longer  about  railroads.  Come  again — do. 
Aunt  Jane  will  be  so  sorry  she  missed  you  to- 

no 


Merrilie  Dawes 

night."  Merrilie,  hesitating  an  instant,  resumed 
more  seriously:  "I  don't  suppose  you  can  tell 
me  what  to  say  to  this  pokey  reorganization  com- 
mittee? It's  so  stupid  a  tangle." 

"My  advice  would  not  be  worth  much,  I'm 
afraid." 

Merrilie  moved  slowly  with  him  toward  the  ves- 
tibule. "The  committee" — she  spoke  languidly, 
which  was  not  like  her,  and  her  words  did  not 
carry  back  to  the  east  room — "meets  next  Thurs- 
day. I  don't  really  much  care  what  they  do." 

"  But  your  interests  should  be  safeguarded,"  ex- 
claimed Adrane,  reproving  her  indifference  in  her 
own  lower  tone. 

Merrilie,  pausing  in  her  step,  looked  at  him 
doubtfully.  "Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"Mr.  Glover  is  in  town.  I  might  bring  him 
over  to  advise  you,"  he  suggested,  concentrating 
his  mental  resources  on  the  responsibilities  of  the 
situation. 

Merrilie  lost  her  indifference  immediately. 
"Oh,  by  no  means;  not  at  all.  It  would  be  quite 
unnecessary."  And,  having  peremptorily  vetoed 
the  suggestion,  she  added  uncertainly:  "I  have 
no  right  to  trouble  even  you." 

"Don't  speak  of  trouble,"  responded  Adrane 
with  energy.  "When  shall  you  be  free  to  see  me 
about  it?" 

in 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Her  eyes  relaxed  at  once.  She  appealed  to 
him  to  decide.  "Hadn't  you  better  set  the  even- 
ing?" 

"But  your  engagements?"  he  ventured. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  the  least  bit.  "They 
are  usually  of  no  consequence." 

"Then,  if  the  meeting  is  Thursday,  shan't  we 
say  Wednesday  night?" 

She  raised  her  girlish  under  lip  undecidedly  for 
the  merest  instant,  then  she  nodded.  "Are  you 
sure  you  are  quite  free?" 

"Absolutely.     Nine  o'clock?" 

"Nine  o'clock  will  suit  me  perfectly.  Good 
night.  Really" — she  was  fingering  her  handker- 
chief as  she  ventured  the  words — "I  think  I  could, 
in  time,  convert  you  to  the  narrow  muzzle,  Mr. 
Adrane." 


112 


CHAPTER  X 

A)RANE,  without  giving  sign  of  it,  realized 
that  Drake's  discourtesy  only  reflected  a  dis- 
like for  him  that  had  already  shown  itself  in  certain 
circles  of  monetary  influence.  The  straightaway 
persistence  that  established  for  him  a  growing 
importance  in  country-wide  industrial  affairs, 
while  it  made  friends  like  Hamersley  and  Havens, 
also  made  enemies. 

Merrilie,  who  erred  rarely  in  such  situations,  told 
Drake  rather  wilfully,  when  he  sought  to  influence 
her,  that  she  should  rely  on  Adrane  to  advise  her 
in  her  dealings  with  the  protective  committee — 
managed  by  the  attorneys  of  Drake  and  his  asso- 
ciates— which  sought  the  control  of  her  interests 
in  the  reorganization.  Nothing  was  said  by  any 
one,  nor  did  Merrilie  at  first  comprehend  what 
animated  the  recurrent  opposition  to  her  wishes  as 
the  reorganization  proceeded;  but  nothing  that 
Adrane  suggested  was  received  with  favor. 

Havens  himself  came  to  Merrilie  to  urge  her 
concurrence  with  what  Drake's  attorneys  advised. 

"3 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Drake,  one  night,  told  her  flatly  that  the  com- 
mittee attorneys  intimated  Adrane's  advice  was 
colored  by  his  own  interests  in  the  West  Shore 
road,  and  that  it  was  certain  he  would  recommend 
nothing  to  make  a  competing  line  an  effective  or 
dangerous  rival.  The  interviews  left  Merrilie  in  a 
state  of  resentfulness  and  suspicion.  She  waited 
with  impatience  a  chance  to  see  Adrane.  It  came 
the  next  evening,  at  Mrs.  Hamersley's. 

Mrs.  Hamersley  had  assembled  for  her  guests 
that  night  a  part  of  the  opera  chorus  and  orchestra 
and  brought  in  two  of  the  operatic  stars. 

Merrilie  was  sufficiently  on  edge  mentally  to 
be  thoroughly  animated.  Adrane  took  the  first 
chance  to  get  near  her.  It  pleased  her,  but  she 
was  in  a  wilful  humor. 

"The  committee  won't  do  anything  I  want 
them  to,"  she  complained  when  he  asked  how 
she  was  getting  on.  "They  are  opposed  to  every- 
thing Mr.  Tilden  proposes;  and  the  ideas  are  all 
yours,  of  course." 

"The  suggestions  I  made  are  positively  right," 
insisted  Adrane.  "I  don't  understand  why  they 
should  be  opposed,  unless  these  people  don't  want 
to  spend  money  enough  to  make  a  good  road." 

"They  say,"  continued  Merrilie  calmly,  "that 
your  suggestions  are  in  line  with  your  own  inter- 
ests, because  you  own  a  competing  road." 

114 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane  looked  at  her  a  moment  without  an- 
swering. Merrilie  delivered  the  words  as  if  dis- 
claiming responsibility,  and  her  eyes  met  his  com- 
posedly. He  flushed. 

"Who  says  that?"  he  demanded. 

She  spoke  with  indifference.  "Some  of  the 
lawyers." 

Her  aloofness  did  not  cool  Adrane.  "Did  you 
believe  it?"  he  asked,  resenting  her  attitude. 

They  were  looking  at  each  other,  but  in  spite  of 
the  spirit  in  Adrane's  eyes  Merrilie's  features  re- 
flected no  concern  at  having  repeated  the  accusa- 
tion. "I  never  believe  anything  that  lawyers  say." 

"Why  should  you  repeat  it  if  you  didn't  be- 
lieve it?" 

It  was  Merrilie's  turn  to  flush  a  little:  "I 
thought  I  might  repeat  it  to  you  when  you  said 
you  did  not  understand  why  they " 

Adrane  was  angry.  "Some  lawyers  make  good 
railroad  men — "  he  interrupted. 

"And  although  I  didn't  believe  it,  it  annoyed 
me—"  interposed  Merrilie. 

"But  Eastern  lawyers  don't  always  shine  as 
managers  of  Western  properties,"  he  continued. 

"So  I  resolved  to  inflict  my  annoyance  on 
you,"  she  persisted.  "And 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  ulterior  interest  in  the 
subject,"  insisted  Adrane  doggedly. 

"5 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Lawyers  are  always  suspicious,"  suggested 
Merrilie,  ready  to  mollify  his  wrath. 

"I  detest  lawyers — and  suspicious  people  as 
well." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Adrane!  I  am  very  suspicious — 
don't  detest  me!" 

He  did  not  hesitate  in  his  retort:  "I  should 
rather  detest  a  man  without  any  reason  than  sus- 
pect him  without  any.  Shouldn't  you?" 

Merrilie's  face  fell  and  she  looked  defensively 
out  from  under  non-combatant  eyelashes  on  the 
little  tempest  she  had  stirred.  "You  said  you 
didn't  understand,"  she  reiterated.  "And  now 
you  are  angry  at  me " 

"Not  in  the  least " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are,"  insisted  Merrilie  sweetly. 

"Indeed " 

"You  are  as  mad  as  hops." 

"Truly,  I " 

Mrs.  Hamersley  leaned  toward  them  and  spoke 
into  their  ears  with  a  suffering  air:  "Have  you 
noticed  the  music?"  she  asked. 

Merrilie  started.   "Oh,  Mrs.  Hamersley!" 

"Yes,  they  are  singing,"  continued  their  hostess 
mincingly.  "Won't  you  two  dears  stop  your  re- 
organization long  enough  to  give  the  poor  Sig- 
nora  a  chance  at  her  polacca?" 

Merrilie  suppressed  a  laugh.  She  glanced  at 
116 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  intimate  they  had 
been  in  mischief  together.  Some  changing  of  seats 
followed  the  song.  Merrilie  chose  an  easy  chair 
that  Adrane  picked  out  for  her  in  a  cool  corner  of 
the  conservatory  and  next  to  Amos  Hamersley. 
A  card  was  brought  for  Adrane  from  a  newspaper- 
man asking  for  a  moment's  interview.  Adrane 
spoke  to  the  reporter  briefly  at  a  rear  door  of  the 
room  and  referred  him  to  Mr.  Hamersley,  who 
joined  them.  When  the  reporter  left,  Adrane 
walked  toward  the  dining-room.  Hamersley  came 
back  to  his  chair. 

"What  is  it,  Amos?"  asked  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
who  had  joined  Merrilie. 

"The  Record  is  printing  part  of  the  West  Shore 
sale  story  in  the  early  morning  edition,"  explained 
her  husband,  habitually  grim.  "The  Gazette  wants 
a  release  of  all  of  it." 

"Did  you  release  it?" 

Adrane  came  back,  bringing  Merrilie  an  ice. 
Amos  answered  his  wife.  "Might  as  well,"  he 
said;  "everybody  knows  it." 

Merrilie,  declining  the  refreshment,  looked  at 
Mrs.  Hamersley.  "What  is  it  everybody  knows?" 
she  asked  as  Adrane  walked  away. 

"That  Amos  bought  Mr.  Adrane's  railroad,  a 
week  or  two  ago." 

Merrilie's  eyes  woke  with  a  sudden  light:  "Has 
117 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Mr.  Adrane  sold  his  railroad?"  she  demanded 
quickly. 

"Why,  yes;  he  is  going  in  for  steel.  Amos  says 
they  will  make  the  Steel  Company  the  biggest  one 
in  the  country  and  we  get  the  railroad  business. 
Didn't  you  know  John  had  sold?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  asked  Merrilie  tartly. 

"I  forgot,  dear,  you  don't  read  the  papers." 

"It  hasn't  been  in  the  papers  over  an  hour,  has 
it?" 

"True,  but  it  has  been  talked  about  a  lot." 

"I  no  longer  have  any  friends  to  tell  me  any- 
thing," retorted  Merrilie. 

Mrs.  Hamersley  beckoned  to  her  husband  with 
her  fan.  "My  dear,  look  here.  You  may  pacify 
Merrilie  if  you  can.  She  says  she  no  longer  has 
any  friends  to  tell  her  what  is  going  on.  Bless 
my  soul,"  she  continued  with  feeling,  "I  only  wish 
somebody  would  buy  one  of  our  railroads!  We've 
so  many  that  we  are  ruined  buying  engines  and 
rubber  hose  for  them.  Every  time  I  ask  for  a 
few  acres  more  up  at  Sea  Ridge " 

"A  few  acres!     A  few  miles,"  snorted  Amos. 

"Sometimes  only  a  section,  dear " 

"Sometimes  a  township." 

"Every  time  I  ask  for  anything,  some  decrepit 
Western  road  develops  a  pressing  need  for  fifty 
locomotives.  And  the  irony  of  it  is  that  when 

118 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Amos  buys  a  railroad  he  thinks  he  is  paying  for 
it.  He  isn't.  I  pay  for  it,  invariably.  Something 
that  I  want  I  have  to  do  without.  It  will  soon 
be  getting  so  I  shall  have  to  count  my  hats." 

"When  it  does  I'll  get  you  an  adding  machine, 
Kate,"  muttered  Amos,  turning  benevolently  to- 
ward Merrilie. 

Merrilie  listened  only  perfunctorily  to  his  par- 
ticulars of  the  sale.  When  the  singing  began  she 
sat  silent.  Adrane  came  back  but  he  could  not 
induce  Merrilie  to  talk. 

"I  have  offended  you,"  he  ventured  at  last, 
"and  without  in  the  least  meaning  to  do  so." 
She  coolly  disclaimed  being  offended.  "I  sup- 
posed you  understood,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  had 
no  present  interest  in  the  West  Shore  road." 

Merrilie  looked  at  him  resentfully.  "Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  you  had  sold?" 

"  I  couldn't  give  out  anything  until  Mr.  Hamers- 
ley  authorized  it." 

Merrilie  raised  her  hands  to  join  in  applause 
given  at  the  moment  to  the  singers.  "I  love  that 
chorus,  don't  you?" 

"The  sale  was  one  of  the  reasons  for  my  Lon- 
don trip,"  continued  Adrane. 

"I  like  Puccini.     Did  Annie  know?" 

"So  do  I,"  Adrane  assented  to  Puccini.  "No 
one  knew,"  he  added,  answering  her  question. 

119 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"You  might  at  least  have  saved  me  from 
making  a  fool  of  myself  in  trying  to  ex- 
plain  " 

"I  was  upset  at  being  placed  before  you  in  such 
a  light- 

Merrilie  looked  directly  at  him.  "With  me," 
she  said  slowly,  "you  need  never  have  any  fear 
that  idle  talk  can  place  a  friend  in  a  false  light. 
I  trust  very  few  people — fewer,  I  dare  say,  than 
you  do,  Mr.  Adrane.  I  felt  no  doubt  about  your 
advice." 

"There  is  absolutely  only  one  best  thing  to  do 
with  your  property,"  declared  Adrane,  resuming 
his  position  with  energy.  "Put  in  Western  men; 
spend  enough  money  to  put  the  line  in  first-class 
condition;  sell  it,  when  the  opportunity  offers, 
to  the  Pennsylvania  or  the  New  York  Central. 
Your  interests " 

Merrilie  indicated  by  a  gesture  her  utter  indif- 
ference to  the  whole  subject.  Adrane  could  only 
wait  for  what  she  should  say.  "You  almost  took 
my  breath  away,"  she  complained,  looking  toward 
the  orchestra,  "you  were  so  short  with  me."  She 
looked  gravely  again  at  Adrane.  The  mild  re- 
proach in  her  eyes  broke  the  fall  of  her  words.  He 
tried  to  express  his  embarrassment.  She  cut  him 
off.  "Don't  misunderstand  me.  You  spoke  a 
moment  ago  of  offending  me.  That  wasn't  it  at 

1 20 


Merrilie  Dawes 

all.  I  very  innocently  offended  you;  you  merely 
hurt  me." 

He  tried  to  speak  but  the  music  claimed  her 
attention.  She  laid  her  finger-tips  on  his  arm  as 
she  looked  toward  the  singer.  "This  is  Helen 
Campbell.  You  mustn't  miss  a  note  of  her  Car- 
men prayer." 

When  Merrilie  was  ready  to  go,  Adrane  took  her 
in  his  car.  Even  had  he  been  less  noticeably  con- 
siderate in  his  leave-taking,  Merrilie  would  have 
slept  content.  Her  tiff  had  been  diverting.  If 
it  had  any  perils  they  were  like  the  dangers  of 
the  quarrels  that  result  in  better  understandings 
— of  a  sort  that  pleasingly  conceal  themselves. 

"Merrilie  and  Mr.  Adrane  didn't  seem  to  care 
very  much  for  the  music,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hamers- 
ley  to  Amos. 

"They  squabbled  over  her  railroad  tangle," 
returned  Amos.  "She  is  concerned  about  her 
bonds." 

"Amos,  she  doesn't  care  any  more  about  those 
bonds  than  I  do.  She  likes  to  talk  to  John  Adrane 
about  them,  that's  all." 

"She  couldn't  help  being  interested  in  the  re- 
organization, could  she?"  demanded  Amos  ag- 
gressively. 

Mrs.  Hamersley's  response  was  cryptic.  "Re- 
organizations do  absorb  a  great  deal  of  people's 

121 


Merrilie  Dawes 

time  nowadays;  perhaps  there  are  more  to  come 
than  are  under  discussion  in  Wall  Street." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Amos  sus- 
piciously. 

Mrs.  Hamersley  dropped  the  subject  so  deftly 
that  her  husband  never  suspected  its  disappear- 
ance. "How  much,"  she  asked  irrelevantly,  "did 
you  pay  Mr.  Adrane  for  his  railroad?" 

"  Fifteen  millions.  He  doesn't  get  all,  you  un- 
derstand." 

"Why,  Amos,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "you  could 
have  bought  it  once  for  three,  couldn't  you?" 

"I  could  have  bought  it  once  for  one,  but  I 
didn't  want  it  then.  And  it  wasn't  worth  one. 
Now  it's  worth  twenty — and  I  had  to  have  it. 
Those  fellows  are  smart.  If  they  win  out,  Adrane 
will  go  to  the  top." 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  activities  connected  with 
educating  the  public  as  to  the  value  of  the  steel 
properties  that  Adrane  succeeded  in  conveying 
to  Merrilie  his  continued  regret  over  his  temper 
at  Hamersley's.  Merrilie  was  surprised  by  the 
beauty  of  his  peace-offering  and  so  pleased  by  his 
promptitude  that  she  called  him  up  on  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Adrane?"  she  asked  when  at  last 
she  succeeded  in  getting  him.  "This  is  Merrilie 
Dawes.  How  do  you  do?  I  suppose  I've  done  a 

122 


Merrilie  Dawes 

dreadful  thing  in  calling  you  up  at  your  office. 
And  your  telephone  is  very  closely  guarded,  isn't 
it?  Who  is  the  young  lady  that  was  going  to  re- 
fuse to  let  me  speak  to  you?  Oh,  your  secretary! 
I  wish  I  had  as  prudent  a  one;  all  sorts  of  people 
get  me  on  the  telephone.  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
have  a  woman  instead  of  Mr.  Tilden.  All  these 
*  service'  and  busy-bee  'uplift'  women  cajole  poor 
Mr.  Tilden  into  letting  them  talk  with  me,  and 
then  I  have  to  be  hard-hearted.  I  notice  that  all 
great  men — I  shouldn't  say  that,  should  I? — all 
men  of  large  affairs — have  women  secretaries. 
But  I  don't  like  women.  Odd?  Not  at  all.  I 
suppose  you  are  very  busy.  No?  It's  nice  of 
you  to  say  so,  anyway.  Where  did  you  find  these 
lovely  wild  orchids  you've  sent  me?" 

"They  came  as  a  peace-offering,"  answered 
Adrane. 

"I  haven't  seen  so  many  for  years.  Really, 
you  can't  imagine  how  the  dear  things  have 
cheered  me.  Indeed,  I  mean  it.  They  made  me 
feel  more  as  if  I  were  at  home  again  than  any- 
thing since  I  got  back.  I  suppose  there  are  a 
dozen  people  waiting  to  talk  to  you —  Aren't 
there,  truly?  Well,  I  really  couldn't  wait  to  write 
— I  just  had  to  call  up.  And  now  I've  kept  you 
too  long,  so  I'm  only  going  to  say,  thank  you,  till 
I  can  see  you  and  do  it  better,  and  good-by.  But 

123 


Merrilie  Dawes 

please  don't  say  anything  about  'peace-offering.' 
It  was  /  who  broke  the  peace,  not  you.  It  was; 
you  know  very  well  it  was.  And  oh,  I  am  forget- 
ting to  tell  you  one  of  the  principal  things  I  called 
you  up  for.  Talking  over  the  telephone,  espe- 
cially if  I  try  to  be  brief,  always  confuses  me  so, 
I  forget  what  I  want  to  say — men  never  do  such 
things,  I  suppose?" 

Adrane  thought  even  men,  at  times,  might; 
though  not,  perhaps,  when  they  are  talking  to 
men. 

"Something  very  odd  has  happened,"  Merrilie 
resumed,  "and  it  would  look  so  horribly  flat  if  I 
did  not  explain  it  was  a  coincidence  that  I  must 
tell  you  about  it.  I  realized  perfectly  well  after 
you  left  me  the  other  night  that  7  had  been  the 
peace-breaker,  so  I  have  been  trying  to  think  what 
I  could  do  to  gloss  over  my  meanness — now  please 
don't  interrupt.  Yesterday,  after  some  more 
brain-cudgelling,  I  did  think  of  what  I  should 
like  to  do.  And  when  your  messenger  came  to- 
day with  the  orchids  mine  was  on  his  way  to 
your  up-town  apartment  with  my  peace-offering. 
When  you  get  home,  please  don't  think  I  de- 
'spatched  him  after  yours  arrived.  That  is  all. 
Good-by.  What  is  it?  This  evening?  I'm  afraid 
I  am  engaged.  Yes,  I  am  free  to-morrow  even- 
ing. Why,  I  should  be  very  glad,  indeed,  to  see 

124 


Merrilie  Dawes 

you.     That    will    be    fine.     Good-by!     Oh,    Mr. 
Adrane!" 

"Yes." 

"I  told  you  I  always  forget  what  I  want  to  say. 
What  do  you  hear  from  Annie?  Is  she  well? 
And  her  mother?  That's  dear.  I  am  so  glad 
they  are  having  a  good  time.  Good-by." 

Adrane  for  the  rest  of  the  day  looked  forward 
to  the  interest  of  getting  home.  As  he  looked 
into  his  living-room  he  saw  crouched  on  a  rug 
before  the  grate  a  large  collie.  The  dog  lay  flat, 
with  his  head  stretched  forward  between  his  paws, 
but  his  eyes  were  open  and  he  looked  up  at  the 
intruder  in  silence.  Before  Adrane  could  observe 
more  than  the  proportions  of  the  animal — 
the  long,  slender  muzzle  and  the  questioning 
silence  of  the  eye — his  man  came  down  the 
corridor.  Adrane  pointed.  "What's  the  dog, 
Oliver?" 

"From  Sea  Ridge;   this  morning,  sir." 

"Sea  Ridge." 

"Miss  Dawes's  kennel-keeper  brought  him 
down  this  morning — with  a  note;  on  your  table, 
sir.  I  had  some  words  with  them  down-stairs 
about  getting  him  in,  but  I  thought  best  to 
keep  him  here  till  you  came.  Rangy  dog,  sir, 
isn't  he?  Took  the  novice  cup  two  years  ago  at 
Madison  Square,  the  keeper  said." 

125 


Merrilie  Dawes 

The  light  sable,  the  high-locked  ears,  the  long 
head  would  have  identified  the  dog  without  any 
words.  "By  George!  it's  Stumah  II,"  exclaimed 
Adrane,  bending  on  one  knee.  He  laid  his  hand 
on  the  dog's  head.  The  two  were  friends  at  once. 

"Bring  me  the  note,"  directed  Adrane  without 
rising.  He  tore  open  the  cover. 

DEAR  MR.  ADRANE: 

You  have  not  quite  convinced  me  that  you  are  right  about 
the  collie  types.  I  feel  certain  that  I  can  persuade  you  you 
are  wrong  on  one  point;  namely,  that  the  narrow  muzzle 
means  a  lack  of  intelligence.  I  am  sending  you  with  this  a 
missionary,  hoping  to  convert  you  to  my  views.  He  will,  I 
feel  sure,  prove  his  intelligence.  And  even  if  he  fails  in  this 
respect  to  measure  up  to  your  standard,  he  will  win  his  way, 
I  hope,  to  your  heart  with  his  affectionate  temper. 
Cordially  yours, 

MERRILIE  DAWES. 

It  is  so  long  since  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Annie.  I 
hope  she  is  well  and  having  a  good  time. 

Adrane  turned  from  the  note  to  Stumah,  and 
from  Stumah  his  eyes  returned  to  the  note.  A 
slight  fragrance  in  it  seemed  to  suggest  Merrilie's 
delicate  face  and  the  background  of  the  little  east 
room.  After  dinner,  with  Stumah  lying  before 
him — silent  and  with  his  head  stretched  between 
his  paws,  but  with  eyes  wide  open  to  every  move- 
ment and  his  ears  locking  stealthily  at  every  sound 
— Adrane  in  his  library  wrote  a  long  letter  to  An- 

126 


Merrilie  Dawes 

nie  telling  her,  among  other  things,  of  Merrilie's 
gift.  He  enclosed  Merrilie's  note  with  his  letter, 
and  rang  for  Oliver  to  post  it.  Then,  changing 
his  mind,  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  withdrew 
Merrilie's  note,  sealed  the  letter  again,  and  after 
the  man  had  closed  the  door  behind  him  Adrane 
read  the  little  note  again. 

After  a  while  he  laid  it  down  and  his  eyes  fell 
on  Annie's  photograph,  framed  on  his  writing- 
table.  Her  face  was  shown  in  profile,  her  eyes 
cast  down  in  dreamy  thought — though,  in  matter 
of  fact,  Annie  did  not  give  herself  very  deeply 
to  reflection.  Adrane  kept  his  eyes  fixed  a  mo- 
ment on  the  picture.  Stumah  was  still  regarding 
him  intently  when,  turning  from  the  picture,  his 
new  master  once  more  picked  up  Merrilie's  note, 
examined  the  tiny  French  monogram,  read  it 
again,  replaced  it  within  its  cover,  and  put  it  in 
the  breast  of  his  coat.  Then  he  swung  around 
with  rather  a  contented  look  to  Stumah  and  held 
out  both  hands.  The  dog  rose  without  hesita- 
tion, came  slowly  forward  wagging  his  tail,  and 
laid  his  head  timorously  between  Adrane's  knees. 


127 


CHAPTER  XI 

MERRILIE,  next  evening,  received  Ad- 
rane's  enthusiasm  over  her  collie  mildly. 
"  Annie,  you  know,  has  a  handsome  brother  of 
Stumah's,"  she  said,  making  light  of  his  pleased 
expressions.  The  orchids  had  been  placed  on  a 
table  in  the  library,  where  they  were  sitting.  "I'm 
so  delighted  with  them,"  confessed  Merrilie  simply, 
"that  I  keep  them  in  my  room.  They  were 
brought  down  to-night  solely  in  your  honor." 

"I  didn't  know  Annie  had  a  collie,"  returned 
Adrane. 

"She  doesn't  care  particularly  for  him — he  is 
too  troublesome  to  take  about.  However,  you 
have  the  two  now — though  a  family  relationship 
doesn't  always  insure  harmony,  even  in  kennels. 
Stumah,  if  you  will  love  him  alone,  will  shed  his 
blood  for  you;  but  he  will  brook  no  division  of 
favors." 

"He's  quite  right." 

"I  think  so;  I  know  anything  is  spoiled  for  me 
if  it  isn't  all  for  me.  It's  a  horridly  mean  disposi- 
tion, but  I  can't  bear  to  share  favors  with  any 
one." 

128 


Merrilie  Dawes 

They  talked  for  an  hour,  and  every  topic 
broached  had  unexpected  interest.  Even  at  the 
vestibule  door  Adrane,  quite  at  his  slow  liveliest, 
lingered.  "When  may  I  come  again?"  he  asked. 

Merrilie  pulled  a  rose  from  a  jar  and  pushed 
open  the  petals.  "When  do  you  want  to  come?" 

"Whenever  I  shan't  bore  you." 

Merrilie  lifted  her  eyebrows  and  made  a  little 
mouth  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

He  extended  his  hand.  "Whom  is  your  bud 
for?"  he  asked. 

"You  never  bore  me.  For  you  if  you  want  it." 
She  broke  the  stem  and  held  out  the  flower. 

"Couldn't  you  say  Thursday?"  he  asked,  ta- 
king it. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  keep  Thursday  evening?" 

"If  it's  a  nice  day,  how  would  you  and  your 
aunt  like  to  motor  awhile  in  the  afternoon?" 

Adrane  was  trying  to  run  the  stem  of  the  rose 
through  his  buttonhole.  Merrilie  saw  he  was  not 
succeeding.  "You  are  spoiling  it,"  she  said,  and, 
stepping  closer  to  him,  she  fastened  the  flower  in 
place. 

"Why,  yes,  perhaps,"  she  assented,  retreating 
and  standing  as  she  spoke  with  her  back  against 
the  wall,  "provided  Aunt  Jane's  cold  is  reason- 
able." 

"Then  dinner  at  the— 
129 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  lifted  her  hand:  "Don't  be  too  strenu- 
ous— dinner  in  peace  and  quiet  at  home." 

"Not  again  for  me,  Thursday " 

"As  you  like,  of  course.  But  I  couldn't  keep 
Aunt  Jane  out." 

"I  see.  Well,  of  course,  I  should  rather  dine 
here  with  you  than  anywhere  else." 

"Tell  me,  before  you  go,  how  you  ever  happened 
to  hunt  Florida  orchids." 

"I  spent  a  winter  down  there  once  as  a  boy, 
with  an  engineering  party.  When  we  weren't 
busy  I  used  to  shoot,  in  and  about  the  Everglades. 
Occasionally  I  met  air-plant  hunters  and  used  to 
camp  with  them,  and  watch  them  bring  in  their 
loads." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  where  you  haven't 
been." 

"That  would  take  a  long  time.  When  these 
orchids  came  up  they  were  so  fine,  I  thought,  that 
I  had  two  baskets  made  up  and  sent  one  to  Annie 
and  one  to  you." 

There  was  no  perceptible  change  in  Merrilie's 
interest  in  the  subject.  But  next  morning  the  air- 
plants  were  carried  out.  Merrilie  would  have 
disclaimed  any  feeling  in  putting  them  out  of 
sight.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that 
Adrane  should  send  his  fiancee  the  duplicate  of 
what  he  had  designed  for  her.  But  Merrilie  was 

130 


Merrilie  Dawes 

quite  frank  with  herself,  and  admitted  disap- 
pointment in  learning  that  her  basket  had 
been  duplicated;  and  it  was  incontinently  dis- 
missed. 

She  fell  into  a  mood  of  unrest  and  began  to  wish 
that  Annie  would  come  home.  She  even  thought 
of  giving  up  New  York,  as  every  one  had  pre- 
dicted she  would,  and  going  back  to  Edith  in 
Cadore. 

"I  would  go  in  a  minute,"  she  confided  one  day 
somewhat  moodily  to  Mrs.  Hamersley,  "except — 
Merrilie  hesitated —  "that  I  don't  fancy  my  com- 
pany." 

"Who  is  your  company?" 

"Myself." 

"What's  the  matter,  honey?" 

Merrilie  was  plainly  out  of  sorts:  "Oh,  I  don't 
know.  I'm  blue,  I  guess,"  she  exclaimed  pettishly. 

"You  are  stale,  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Hamersley. 
"Come  up  to  Sea  Ridge  for  Sunday  if  the  weather 
is  right.  That  will  freshen  you." 

"I  should  be  the  stupidest  possible  person  for 
a  week  end,  Aunt  Kate." 

"  But  if  you  don't  go,  child,  there  'ain't  going  to 
be  no  party';  if  you  want  to  be  mean,  say  so." 

"Whom  are  you  inviting?" 

"Harry  and  his  sister " 

"I  hate  Julia." 

131 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"So  do  I,  but  she's  good  company.  Amos  has 
been  up  there  for  a  week,  and  John  Adrane  is 
going  up  Saturday  to  see  him." 

Merrilie  shrugged  her  shoulders:  "Don't  in- 
clude me." 

"You  are  included." 


132 


CHAPTER  XII 

THAT  very  evening  brought  the  relief  Mer- 
rilie  seemed  to  need.  At  home  she  found  a 
wireless  message  from  Edith  and  Guido  begging 
the  food  and  lodging  for  a  week,  as  Guido  ex- 
pressed it.  The  two  landed  in  New  York  the  next 
evening,  having  run  over  from  London  to  surprise 
Merrilie.  She  was  not  only  surprised  but  re- 
joiced; and  Edith,  even  at  the  pier,  noticed  that 
Merrilie  had  changed  since  she  had  seen  her. 
She  had  grown  younger,  her  older  sister  declared, 
and  demanded  to  know  why.  After  a  night  of 
incessant  talking  Edith  had  reached  no  solution 
of  the  riddle,  but  she  had  made  a  second  dis- 
covery: Merrilie  had  grown  more  subdued.  This 
apparently  contradicted  the  first  impression;  but, 
paradox  or  not,  there  it  was,  Edith  insisted;  in- 
stead of  youth  and  gayety  together,  Merrilie  had 
paid  for  the  former  with  the  latter — an  unusual 
barter,  Edith  thought.  "What's  the  matter  with 
Merrilie?"  she  demanded  of  Mrs.  Hamersley. 

"Merrilie?"  echoed  Mrs.  Hamersley,  surprised. 
"I  haven't  an  idea.     Possibly,"  she  suggested,  dis- 

133 


Merrilie  Dawes 

missing  the  inquiry  in  her  favorite  industrial 
idiom,  "Merrilie  needs  reorganizing." 

Edith  readily  consented  to  Sunday  at  Sea  Ridge. 
Guido,  for  one  thing,  had  never  seen  an  American 
country-place,  and  Mrs.  Hamersley  was  at  her  best 
in  showing  him  about  Eagle's  Nest.  Merrilie  her- 
self had  not  been  up  to  Sea  Ridge  for  five  years, 
and  found  much  added  to  it. 

"When  we  'come  down,'  as  the  Irish  say,  I  ex- 
pect to  retire  here  to  live,"  announced  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley as  she  alighted  with  Guido  and  her  guests 
before  Eagle's  Nest  house,  and  the  party  walked 
around  to  the  east  terrace  to  get  the  view  toward 
the  Sound.  "Every  time  Amos  goes  freshly  in 
debt,"  she  added,  "I  insist  that  he  provide  a  few 
hundred  acres  more  for  my  Old  Ladies'  Home." 

The  house  stood  on  the  summit  of  a  long  hill 
sloping  to  the  south  and  west,  and  was,  with  its 
modifications,  Colonial,  of  ample  dimensions,  and 
supplied  with  the  modern  resources  of  comfort  for 
those  summer  retreats  from  town,  that  Amos 
periodically  made  when  he  could  not  go  as  far  as 
Crossrips.  The  undulating  landscape  was  heavily 
wooded  in  places,  and  to  the  south  lay  the  garden. 
Beyond  this  a  small  river  flowed  toward  the 
Sound. 

"It  would  be  very  nice,"  suggested  Edith,  "to 
be  poor  and  live  here  with  you,  Mrs.  Hamersley.'* 

134 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Where  will  you  put  me?"  demanded  Merrilie, 
looking  over  the  low-lying  landscape  toward  the 
distant  sea.  "Do  give  me  this  view." 

"I  should  expect  to  provide  modest  quarters  for 
all  of  my  friends,"  answered  Mrs.  Hamersley. 
Mr.  Hamersley  and  John  Adrane,  coming  from 
the  house,  joined  the  new  arrivals. 

Adrane  could  hardly  believe  that  Edith  and 
Merrilie  were  sisters.  In  comparison,  Merrilie  and 
Annie  looked  much  more  alike.  The  Contessa 
Mocenigo,  it  was  again  explained  to  him,  was  the 
only  other  child  of  Merrilie's  mother,  who,  wid- 
owed early  in  life,  had  married  Richard  Dawes,  to 
leave  him  in  turn  a  widower  during  Merrilie's 
childhood.  The  older  sister,  more  material,  so  to 
say,  in  every  way  than  the  younger,  was  pos- 
sessed of  physique,  a  retrousse  nose,  attractive 
aplomb,  a  contagious  laugh,  the  step  of  a  duchess, 
and,  having  pride  without  vanity,  was  pleasantly 
unaffected.  To  Adrane,  Edith  brought  news  of 
a  fleeting  visit  in  Venice  from  Annie  and  her 
mother.  She  was  surprised  to  learn  they  were 
not  yet  home.  Guido,  in  soft,  pointed-toe  shoes, 
and  with  the  observing  eyes  and  low-voiced  in- 
telligent deference  of  a  Venetian,  Mrs.  Hamersley 
pronounced  a  real  comfort,  and  Julia  Robbins  at 
dinner  made  at  once  for  his  brown  eyes  and  his 
stiff  English.  Merrilie,  sitting  with  Harry  Drake, 

135 


Merrilie  Dawes 

completely  regained  her  spirits,  and  Adrane  with 
Edith  felt  himself  deservedly  out  of  her  thoughts, 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  her  eyes,  when  he 
caught  a  glance  across  the  table,  seemed  ex- 
tremely alive.  During  the  evening  he  remained 
faithfully  attached  to  Edith,  who  not  only  was 
herself  attractive,  but,  what  was  more  to  the 
point,  seemed  interested  in  him. 

Next  morning  Adrane,  sitting  on  the  east  ter- 
race in  the  sunshine,  heard  footsteps  and  saw 
Merrilie  coming  from  the  house.  She  pointed  a 
finger  toward  him  as  he  rose:  "You  are  the  first 
soul  I  have  seen.  What  are  you  doing  up  at  this 
unearthly  hour?"  she  asked. 

"What  are  you  doing  up?'* 

"I'm  going  to  the  spring.  You  must  have  had 
a  bad  night." 

"No,  but  I  talked  nearly  all  night  with  Mr. 
Hamersley.  Where  is  the  spring?" 

Merrilie  pointed  south  across  the  river:  "  Do  you 
see  that  hill?  And  the  trees  at  the  foot?  It's  in 
that  grove.  You  cross  a  foot-bridge " 

"I  love  a  spring." 

Merrilie  raised  difficulties.  "It's  further  than  it 
looks." 

Adrane  regarded  her  with  professed  considera- 
tion. "You  don't  feel  equal  to  it " 

"Oh,  I  am  a  relentless  tramper." 
136 


Merrilie  Dawes 

They  took  the  path  toward  the  foot-bridge, 
and  reaching  the  first  meadow  paused  as  they 
walked  to  pick  wild  flowers  pushing  through  the 
heavy  grass  that  encroached  underfoot.  Merrilie 
at  intervals  pointed  the  way.  The  sun  shone 
temperately  through  a  soft,  clear  air;  meadow- 
larks  on  swift  morning  errands  skimmed  the  wide 
fields,  and  among  the  rushes  along  the  river 
margin,  blackbirds  chimed  in  noisy  chorus.  The 
morning  breathed  young  summer. 

"When  we  cross  the  bridge,  we  can  go  around 
by  the  woods  road,  or  take  the  path  along  the 
brook — it's  a  little  wet  that  way." 

"Don't  mind  me." 

She  looked  at  her  boots.  "I'm  water-proof. 
There  are  loads  of  cress  in  the  brook — and  trout, 
below  the  bridge." 

After  they  crossed  the  river  she  took  her  way 
through  the  second  meadow  with  confidence  and 
easily  found  the  hidden  path.  When  they  neared 
the  brook  itself,  Merrilie  tiptoed  forward  in  silence 
to  get  a  glimpse  of  a  trout.  They  halted  at  times 
to  search  the  sandy  bottoms  of  pools  where  the 
brook,  framed  with  rank  meadow-grass,  ran  be- 
tween flags  that  disputed  for  place  with  the  gur- 
gling water.  The  path  was  sometimes  obscured 
in  tangles  of  wild  grasses,  the  footing  at  times 
was  wet,  but  they  found  ways  across  the  swampy 
ground. 

137 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Nearly  reaching  the  spring,  they  encountered  a 
field  of  cress  and  Merrilie  picked  a  handful  for 
Adrane.  The  tiny  stream  forked  and  it  looked 
as  if  they  might  be  stopped;  then  finding  a  strip 
of  water  that  shot  between  narrow  banks  Merrilie 
ran  ahead  and,  before  Adrane  could  speak,  sprang 
across  it.  He  sprang  after  her.  She  had  gained 
the  farther  bank,  but  her  foot  slipped  back  in  the 
soft  earth. 

"Merrilie!"  cried  Adrane,  catching  her  with  his 
arm.  For  an  instant  they  toppled  together,  laugh- 
ing with  excitement.  Then  Adrane  planted  one 
foot  in  the  yielding  mud  and  pushed  Merrilie 
forward.  The  moment  she  gained  firm  ground 
she  turned,  and,  taking  his  hand,  steadied  him 
until  he  could  pull  himself  up  after  her. 

"Look  what  I've  done!"  she  cried,  pointing  to 
his  feet  and  her  own.  "You  will  never  forgive 
me.  Oh,  Mr.  Adrane,  there's  a  water-snake!" 

The  mildest  excitement  brought  a  zest.  When 
the  snake  had  made  hastily  away,  a  bumblebee 
buzzed  out  of  nowhere,  and,  challenging  Merrilie's 
curling  hair  as  she  shrank  in  alarm,  swooped 
with  the  swagger  air  of  a  courtier  down  on  her 
handful  of  flowers.  Merrilie  dodged  hither  and 
thither  until  Adrane  counselled  quiet  submission. 
Afterward  she  stood  rigid  with  courage  and  they 
watched  together  while  the  clumsy  fellow  tumbled 

138 


Merrilie  Dawes 

over  her  blossoms  and  in  a  moment  with  fickle 
swiftness  fled. 

The  two  reached  the  spring,  bubbling  into  a 
rocky  basin,  only  to  find  they  had  no  cup.  Mer- 
rilie handed  her  hat  to  Adrane,  and,  shaking  back 
her  hair,  knelt  over  the  pool  with  Adrane  waiting 
while  she  drank.  They  sat  down  on  a  bench  and 
Merrilie  told  of  two  little  lakes  among  the  hills  to 
the  west — Black  Lake  and  Green  Lake.  She  told 
Adrane  which  lake  had  the  big-mouth  green  bass 
and  which  the  small-mouth  black  bass  with  the 
red  eyes.  Her  father  used  to  come  up  to  fish, 
she  told  him,  with  Mr.  Hamersley,  while  she 
and  Madge  Hamersley  made  dams  around  the 
spring  and  chased  butterflies  down  the  valley  and 
across  the  stony  pastures. 

Sunday  afternoon,  with  Merrilie  as  a  guide,  the 
party  started  to  find  the  two  lakes.  Drake  re- 
lieved Merrilie  of  a  gossamer  coat  and  Guido 
claimed  a  book  of  verse  from  her  hand.  With 
Adrane  and  Julia  Robbins  following,  they  struck 
out  in  rambling  fashion  through  the  deep  woods 
to  the  north.  In  these  Merrilie  found  hollows 
where  ferns  grew,  and  Drake,  under  protest, 
carried  such  as  Merrilie  insisted  must  be  taken 
back  to  Mrs.  Hamersley.  At  Black  Lake  they 
found  three  small  rowboats.  Drake  and  Guido 
got  the  best  of  the  three  and  tried  to  tempt  Mer- 

139 


Merrilie  Dawes 

rilie  aboard.  She  settled  the  dispute  by  taking 
the  oars  of  the  third  boat  herself — inviting  Adrane 
as  passenger.  Leading  the  way,  she  pointed  out 
for  the  other  boats  the  landing-place  across  the 
lake  and  explained  a  fork  in  the  Green  Lake 
trail  which  they  should  encounter  on  the  first 
hill.  Merrilie  drew  Adrane's  attention  to  the 
features  along  the  shores,  and  stopped  at  inter- 
vals where  the  water  was  very  clear  to  show  him 
the  bottom,  with  fish  gliding  in  and  out  of  the  green 
lacery  of  water-plants.  Loitering,  they  reached 
the  landing  last  and  climbed  the  Green  Lake  trail. 
The  rest  of  the  party  were  already  over  the  hill. 

At  the  top  Merrilie  paused  for  a  breath.  "I  for- 
got to  tell  them,"  she  said  reflectively,  "I  used  to 
know  a  place  near  here  where  there  were  lots  of 
brier-roses."  Adrane  wanted  to  find  them. 

She  regarded  the  suggestion  not  unfavorably, 
but  doubtfully.  "There  are  azaleas  on  the  other 
trail,"  she  suggested.  But  Adrane  held  for  the 
wild  roses  and  Merrilie  assented.  "Only,  we  must 
hurry  back  or  we  shall  be  in  disgrace,"  she  said. 

They  set  out  eagerly.  Merrilie  again  proved  a 
good  guide,  but  professed  to  ignore  his  compli- 
ments on  her  sense  of  direction.  She  held  her  way 
almost  straight  down  the  hill  and  across  a  deep 
ravine  to  a  glade  covered  with  roses.  He  asked 
her  to  sit  while  he  gathered  some,  and  as  he  cut 

140 


Merrilie  Dawes 

the  branches  they  talked.     When  Merrilie  told 
him  to  stop  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"You  were  speaking  yesterday  of  your  father," 
said  Adrane  as  he  watched  her  sort  the  cuttings. 
"Mr.  Hamersley  was  talking  about  him  last  night. 
I  should  like  to  have  known  him." 

"I  wish  you  might  have,"  returned  Merrilie. 
"Hardly  any  of  the  stories  you  hear  about  him 
are  within  miles  of  the  truth.  He  was  described 
as  a  man  without  emotion.  That  was  nonsense. 
The  difficulty  was,  he  despised  the  world  he 
moved  in.  I'm  afraid  I  inherit  his  traits:  it's 
easier  for  me  to  feel  contempt  than  respect  for 
most  people.  These  tireless  climbers  with  their 
snug  little  fortunes  and  carefully  nursed  positions ! 
I  know  I  ought  not  to  detest  them,  but  I  always 
want  to.  And,  naturally,  I  am  credited  with  the 
same  unfeeling  nature  father  was  credited  with 
because  I  don't  join  the  ranks  of  the  brass-band 
philanthropists.  Father  wasn't  merely  grasping. 
'So  much  of  it,  Merrilie,'  he  often  said  to  me, 
'came  unexpectedly.  People  give  me  credit  for 
a  vast  amount  of  foresight  I  never  possessed.'  I 
really  believe  he  felt  at  the  last  it  would  have 
been  better  if  he  had  been  far  less  fortunate 
in  his  undertakings.  'I  am  leaving  you  a  lot  of 
trouble,  Merrilie,'  he  said  once."  She  looked  at 
Adrane. 

141 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  he  said. 

"And  he  was  right,"  she  went  on.  "I  hope 
I'm  not,  myself,  of  a  genuinely  grasping  disposi- 
tion. But  I've  something  of  pride  at  stake  in 
taking  care  of  what  father  was  so  anxious  I  should 
not  fritter  all  away;  and  I  know  you  can  under- 
stand that.  It  was  the  tragedy  of  his  life  that  I 
was  a  girl  instead  of  a  boy."  Merrilie,  with  her 
back  against  a  beech  tree  and  her  hat  hanging 
loosely,  continued  to  sort  the  roses.  Adrane 
hardly  waited  for  her  to  finish  speaking. 

"I  am  glad  you  weren't  a  boy,"  he  rejoined. 
"There  are  too  many  men  in  the  world — not 
enough  women  like  you.  Men  need  women  of 
your  kind.  They  give  them  a  better  hold  on  life. 
You  are  the  cleverest  girl  I've  ever  known." 

Merrilie  looked  up  in  astonishment  at  the  out- 
burst. Both  were  a  little  self-conscious  as  their 
eyes  met. 

"Mr.  Adrane,"  she  exclaimed  with  entire  re- 
straint, "please!" 

Adrane  flushed  but  persisted.  "It's  absolutely 
so,"  he  went  on.  "I  feel  it  every  time  I  talk  with 
you.  You  are  an  inspiration." 

It  was  the  tone,  even  more  than  the  words, 
that  brought  a  flush  to  Merrilie's  face.  She  tossed 
an  armful  of  roses  into  his  lap.  "Help  me 
with  these,"  she  said  coolly. 

142 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  suppose,"  he  continued,  "you  will  say  I  am 
talking  nonsense?'* 

"I  should  hate  to  be  rude,"  returned  Mer- 
rilie composedly,  "but  we  might  advantageously 
change  the  subject."  She  made  an  effort  to  shift 
her  position  and  free  her  face  from  the  sun.  "My 
eyes,"  she  continued,  "are  so  sensitive  to — sun- 
shine." 

"Yet  you  spread  it  everywhere." 

Merrilie  struck  her  hands  together,  vexed. 
"Don't  be  ridiculous!"  she  protested.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  be  taken  in  such  a  way  as  that." 

Adrane  made  no  answer  for  a  time.  He  only 
looked  at  her  and  she  was  conscious  of  his  eyes, 
which,  however  controlled,  were  confusing.  "I 
know  you  didn't,"  he  returned;  "but  I  rather 
wish  you  had." 

In  spite  of  herself  some  color  surged  up  from 
Merrilie's  neck.  She  pointed  resolutely  to  his  lap. 
"Haven't  you  briers  enough  in  hand?" 

Adrane  began  to  sort  the  branches.  "If  these 
were  the  only  ones  in  life!" 

"At  least,  don't  stumble  into  bramble-bushes 
that  don't  lie  in  your  path."  v 

"All  I  want  to  explain  is " 

Merrilie  made  a  swift  gesture.  "Don't  explain." 

"You  fairly  radiate  sunshine " 

Merrilie  raised  her  hand.    "If  you  aren't  going 


Merrilie  Dawes 

to  arrange  those  give  them  to  me.     You  are  too 
imaginative  for  this  unfeeling  world." 

"Blow  the  unfeeling  world.  The  first  time  I 
ever  met  you " 

She  laughed  suddenly  and  looked  quickly  at 
him.  "Tell  the  truth!  If  you  do  you  will  say 
you  were  disappointed." 

Adrane  denied.  "It's  not  a  matter  of  the 
slightest  moment,"  continued  Merrilie  objectively. 
"You  needn't  deny.  I  know  it's  hard  to  be  frank. 
But  I'll  be  frank  about  you — no,  I  won't,  either." 

"That's  not  fair,"  rejoined  Adrane.  "The  first 
time  I  met  you  I  found  you  different  from  every- 
thing I  had  ever  heard  and  I  was  trying  the  whole 
time  to  reconcile  reality  with  rumor " 

She  was  loftily  sceptical.  "What  a  delicate 
way  to  put  it " 

"Merrilie! "protested  Adrane.  Her  name  spring- 
ing to  his  lips  had  all  the  excitement  of  a  first 
step.  She  could  not  and  would  not  look  up.  Her 
hands  moved  slowly  among  the  branches  in  her 
lap,  and  the  two  breathed  in  the  challenge  of  the 
instant. 

"Are  you  wholly  unbelieving,"  demanded 
Adrane  after  a  pause,  "when  I  am  absolutely 
honest?  You  are  totally  different  in  every  way 
from  what  I  imagined.  What  do  you  think  I  said 
to  myself?" 

144 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie,  her  eyes  occupied,  pulled  more  lei- 
surely at  the  briers.  "What?" 

"Can  this  simple,  lovely,  irresponsible  young 
girl,  really  be  the  distinguished  and  important 
Miss  Merrilie  Dawes?" 

Merrilie  quite  realized  she  was  inviting  it;  what 
annoyed  her  was  that  she  had  underestimated  her 
composure.  But  it  was,  after  all,  no  more,  she 
reflected,  than  a  thunder-shower  of  pleasantries. 
The  big  drops  dashing  down  on  her  restraint 
shocked  her  more  than  she  had  anticipated;  but 
the  shock  was  of  a  new  sort  and  pleasant.  She 
raised  her  loose-gloved  hands  and  her  disclaiming 
eyes  with  a  despairing  murmur.  "Simple,  irre- 
sponsible young  girl!  Shade  of  my  dear  mother! 
And  you  had  pictured  me,  of  course,  an  Amazon 
with  college  measurements  and  a  megaphone 
voice." 

Adrane  bunched  the  roses  up  in  his  two  hands. 

"You  will  be  stuck  full  of  thorns,"  said  Merrilie 
warningly. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  pictured  you.  If  I  were 
to  die  for  it,  I  couldn't  tell  you  now.  All  I  know 
is,  what  you  were  and  are.  Each  time  I  met  you, 
it  was  a  fresh  surprise.  I  found  pretty  soon  that 
the  simple  young  girl  who,  I  was  fool  enough  for 
a  moment  to  think,  wanted  to  run  all  the  trains 
up  one  side  of  the  Mississippi  and  down  the  other 

US 


Merrilie  Dawes 

had  in  her  head  the  simple  wit  of  a  dozen  women 
and  the  sense  of  several  dozen  men." 

Merrilie  had  regained  herself.  "Really,  you 
deal  in  round  figures.  I  am  not  surprised  you  are 
a  successful  market  operator." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort — only  honest.  Now  I 
have  accepted  your  challenge;  tell  me  what  you 
thought  of  me." 

Merrilie  laughed.  "I'm  not  the  first  one  that 
has  tipped  a  boat  by  rocking.  But  now  that  I've 
rocked  it  I  dread  tipping  it  clear  over." 

"Tip  it.     You  dared  me." 

"You  wouldn't  speak  to  me  again." 

"Out  with  it." 

Merrilie  picked  the  loose  leaves  slowly  from  her 
lap.  "I  thought,"  she  confessed  reluctantly,  "you 
were  very  conceited."  Adrane  burst  into  a  laugh. 
Merrilie  joined. 

"It's  always  so,"  exclaimed  Adrane.  "The 
woman,  right  the  very  first  instant:  the  man, 
blundering  along  as  usual  to  a  hard-earned  con- 
clusion." The  expression  in  Merrilie's  eyes  as 
she  looked  at  him  from  under  her  long  lashes  was 
duly  guarded. 

"But  you  shouldn't  blame  the  poor  man  after 
all,"  contended  Adrane,  who  had  put  aside  the 
briers  and  used  his  hands  now  to  emphasize  his 

words.     "You  wanted  to  appear  simple " 

146 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"And  young — of  course." 

"You  couldn't  appear  anything  but  that.  And 
you  succeeded  perfectly  in  attaining  simplicity. 
You  left  the  snare  open:  naturally,  I  walked  in." 

Merrilie  glanced  at  him  and  put  something  in 
the  form  of  a  question:  "As  you  always  do?" 

"As  I  always  do,"  he  assented  frankly.  "And 
in  this  case  I  don't  care.  I  would  rather  be  fooled 
by  at  least  one  sophisticated  girl  than " 

"Than  what,  Mr.  Dreamer?" 

"Not  to  have  the  chance  to  know  her." 

"You  are  never  at  a  loss  for  words." 

Adrane  put  up  his  hand.  "Don't  be  unbeliev- 
ing. Every  time  you  are,  you  supply  my  retort." 

Merrilie  allowed  herself  the  semblance  of  a 
mental  yawn.  "What  is  it  this  time?" 

"It  would  be  rude." 

"Oh,  we've  been  rude  for  some  time.  What's 
the  retort?" 

"That  this  is  just  what  you  are  accused  of, 
being  never  at  a  loss  for  words.  Not  that  I  be- 
lieve it;  I  don't.  All  I  know  is,  that  I  never  talk 
to  you  without  becoming  interested,  stirred,  and 
lying  awake  afterward  thinking  it  all  over — so 
what's  the  difference?  I  enjoy  it;  no  headaches 
follow.  Nothing  but  an  eagerness  to — to  hear 
you  again." 

Merrilie's  hands  lay  crossed.  Her  head  rested 
H7 


Merrilie  Dawes 

indolently  against  the  tree.  She  made  no  effort 
to  speak.  "What  are  you  thinking  about  ? "  asked 
Adrane. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  I  might  be  thinking  about," 
she  answered  lazily.  "If  I  wanted  to  allow  your 
remark  about  'words,'  I  should  say  that  out  of  the 
faint,  far  expanses  of  the  golden  West  has  come 
one  who  is  more  than  my  poor  match  in  them. 
You  do  the  nice  ones,"  observed  Merrilie,  "all  so 
freshly. 

"But  that  isn't  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  she 
added,  "for  I  pay  no  attention  to  what  people  say 
about  me,  any  more  than  I  should  to  what  they 
might  say  about — you,  for  instance.  I  was  think- 
ing of  something  father  once  said.  'I  can't  re- 
member, Merrilie,'  he  said,  'that  any  one  ever  de- 
ceived me.  But  the  times  I've  deceived  myself!' 
It  applies  so  perfectly  to  what  you  spoke  of  a 
moment  ago — being  interested,  and  so  on.  It 
hasn't  been  what  I've  said  that  interested  you. 
It's  what  you've  said  yourself " 

Adrane  finished  her  sentence:   "To  you." 

"Not  necessarily." 

"Most  necessarily;  no  other  person  has  the 
same  effect  on  me." 

"But  there  are  things  that  have,  I  understand. 
Let's  talk  about  steel." 

"I'd  rather  stick  to  the  higher  subject." 
148 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Don't  be  merely  complimentary  again.  I 
want  to  listen  to  you  on  something  worth  while." 

"Miss  Dawes " 

"You  are  formal." 

"Merrilie- 

"I  didn't  mean  that  either — just  begin.  Say, 
'Lady  Steel  is  lovely,  young,  artless,'  and  all  that; 
and  then  tell  me  simply  and  clearly  just  what  you 
mean  to  do  with  the  engaging  creature." 

"I  can  tell  you  in  a  word.  I,  we,  mean  to 
make  the  public  appreciate  her.  My  associates 
and  I " 

"I  hear,  largely  you." 

"Are  undertaking  to  put  our  properties — or  the 
securities  that  represent  them — in  the  market 
where  they  intrinsically  belong." 

"A  bull  campaign " 

"Why— yes." 

"Then  I  shan't  buy  any  of  them.  Father  said 
never  to  buy  stocks  except  when  they  get  on  the 
front  page  of  the  newspaper  in  a  bear  campaign." 

"We  certainly  have  work  laid  out,  but  we  have 
the  goods  and  the  Steel  Trust  must  feel  us  some 
time.     We  are  getting  publicity  without  effort— 
but  you  don't  read  the  papers " 

"I  will,  if  you  are  to  be  in  them."  Then  she 
added :  "  I  hope  you  are  sure  of  your  ground." 

"Absolutely." 

149 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Everything  with  you  is  'absolutely.'  But  you 
are  an  optimist  and  with  an  optimist  things  have 
to  be  absolute." 

"Stumah  came  to  me  the  other  night  and  laid 
his  head  on  my  knee  as  if  he  were  homesick.  I 
said  to  myself,  he's  longing  for  a  sight  of  his 
mistress." 

"Stumah  is  a  dear  brute.  Look  at  that  sun 
through  the  trees." 

"He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  wanted  to  ask  me  to 
take  him  to  you " 

"Turn  so  that  you  can  see  the  sun." 

"I  don't  want  to." 

"I  want  you  to."  Merrilie  raised  her  arm  and 
pointed  with  her  ringer.  "Look!  Now,  thank  me." 

"  But  I  want  to  say  something " 

"You  can  do  that  at  any  time;  the  sunset  will 
pass.  Lady  Steel  won't  fool  you,  will  she,  as  you 
say  the  simple  little  New  York  creature  did?" 

"If   Lady    Steel  fools   me  as — as  you  did,  it 

would  only  be  iron  turning  to  gold  on  my  hands, 
j " 

"Look  at  the  sunset.      Don't  let  us  talk." 

"I  know  what  that  means— - — " 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means  you've  said  all  you  want  to  say- 


"And  that  I  don't  want  to  hear  what  you  want 
to  say.     Quite  right,"  she  agreed. 

150 


Merrilie  Dawes 

A  shout  across  the  ravine  interrupted  Mer- 
rilie. Drake  and  Guido  stood  on  the  brow  of  the 
opposite  hill  with  Julia  and  Edith,  looking  over. 
Adrane  attempted  to  rise.  "Don't  get  up,"  said 
Merrilie  warningly.  "Pay  no  attention.  They 
will  come  over,  anyway."  She  beckoned.  When 
the  party  had  nearly  reached  them,  Merrilie  rose. 
Every  one  began  talking  at  once. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  demanded  Drake. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  retorted  Merrilie, 
pointing  toward  the  fork  in  the  trails.  "I  told 
you  to  go  to  the  right,  and  we've  tramped  these 
woods  looking  for  you  till  I  am  exhausted." 

"You  do  look  travel-stained,"  declared  Drake 
ironically.  "Mr.  Adrane,  allow  me — Merrilie's 
coat."  He  placed  the  garment  with  some  cere- 
mony in  Adrane's  hands.  Guido  followed  suit 
with  his  armful  of  branches  and  his  book. 

Adrane  looked  at  Merrilie.  "Will  you  trust 
these  with  me?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"Provided  you  won't  be  peeved,  Mr.  Adrane,  if 
I  get  lost  again  on  the  way  home.  Harry,"  Mer- 
rilie appealed  to  Drake,  "now  that  you've  loaded 
Mr.  Adrane  down,  carry  these  roses  for  me.  Let's 
go  back  through  the  ravine  to  the  boats.  I  want 
to  get  some  wild  asparagus — Mrs.  Hamersley 
loves  it." 

After  dinner  the  party  motored  in  the  rising 


Merrilie  Dawes 

moon  to  the  seashore.  Merrilie  gave  the  evening 
to  Drake;  and  when  Adrane,  in  the  second  car,  re- 
turned from  the  drive  he  found  Drake  searching 
for  a  thorn  in  Merrilie's  finger.  The  two  were  in 
the  billiard-room  and  Adrane  could  get  no  chance 
for  a  word  with  Merrilie  until  late.  He  encoun- 
tered her  coming  down-stairs  alone. 

"I  cut  the  roses,"  objected  Adrane,  confronting 
her. 

She  looked  questioningly  at  him:  "  Apres  ?" 

"I  think  you  might  have  let  me  hunt  for  the 
thorn." 

Merrilie  looked  wisely  up.  She  held  the  ends 
of  her  fan  in  her  two  hands.  "That  wasn't  your 
thorn,"  said  she  evenly.  "It  was  just  a  tiny 
consolation  thorn,"  she  added,  holding  up  her 
thumb  and  forefinger  to  make  an  infinitesimal 
measurement. 

Both  were  speaking  in  low  tones.  "Haven't 
you  another  I  could  try  for?"  asked  Adrane. 

She  answered  uncertainly:  "It  is  pretty  late." 

He  looked  toward  the  terrace.  "The  moon  is 
fairly  good  yet.  Let  me  see  if  I  can't  find  one." 

Merrilie  regarded  him  meditatively.  "Thorns 
hurt  less  in  the  moonlight.  And,  by  the  way, 
have  you  looked  your  own  fingers  over?" 

"I  don't  want  to  lose  any  that  I've  picked  up 
to-day." 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  retorted  in  kind:  "How  do  you  know  I 
want  to  lose  all  of  mine?" 

"I  wish  to  God  I  did  know.  It  would  make — " 
He  stopped.  Merrilie  was  as  calm  as  the  evening. 
"Come  out  just  for  a  moment,"  he  urged. 

"We  should  intrude  on  Harry  and  Guido  and 
Edith  on  the  terrace.  I  just  left  them." 

"The   bridge?" 

Merrilie  raised  her  shoulders  the  least  bit. 
Neither  spoke.  They  walked  together  toward  the 
west  door  and  through  it.  The  night  air  was  cool. 
As  they  stood  looking  at  the  moon  a  shiver  passed 
over  her.  "You  must  have  a  wrap,"  said  Adrane. 

"I  haven't  any  down-stairs." 

"You  will  get  chilled.  Let  me  go  for  some- 
thing." 

"No." 

"Yes." 

Merrilie  was  determined.  "If  you  insist,  there 
will  be  no  walk  to  the  bridge." 

"The  Lord  knows  I  want  to  go  to  the  bridge 
bad  enough,  but  I  won't  let  you  go  with  your 
shoulders  bare  in  this  night  air,  even  if  I  miss 
going." 

She  showed  some  impatience.  "Don't  be 
fussy." 

"But  I  will  be  obstinate,  Merrilie.  I  won't 
expose  you  to  an  illness." 

153 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"If  I  go  up  to  get  a  wrap,  Mrs.  Hamersley  or 
some  one  will  intercept  me,  and  then — good 
night." 

"What  am  I  thinking  about? — your  coat  is  in 
the  hall." 

"Get  it.     I'll  stay  here." 

When  he  laid  the  garment  across  her  shoulders 
she  shuddered  again.  "What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

She  laughed  carelessly.  "Some  one  walking 
across  my  grave." 

"Never  mind,  so  long  as  you're  not  in  it."  He 
took  her  arm  and  they  started  in  step. 

"It's  too  far"  to  the  bridge,"  said  Merrilie. 
Adrane  thought  not.  "Let's  be  sensible  and  go 
into  the  garden,"  she  suggested. 

"How  do  you  know  I  want  to  lose  all  of 
mine?'  you  asked."  Adrane  repeated  the  words 
slowly.  "I  wish  I  did  know,"  he  added. 

They  entered  the  garden.  To  the  west  the 
woods  were  ins^  ^itably  black,  in  the  east  the 
distant  Sound  la^-raint  in  the  moonlight,  and  the 
south  wind  stirred  softly. 

"We  were  speaking  in  figures,"  returned  Mer- 
rilie, putting  back  a  ringlet  that  the  wind  blew 
across  her  temple.  "They  don't  mean  any- 
thing." 

"Even  at  that,  let's  continue.  How  can  I 
find  out?" 

154 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  solve  your  difficulty 
for  you,  I  hope." 

"No.  Only  create  difficulties  for  me.  But  I 
rather  like  to  take  figures  seriously.  Tell  me, 
should  you  like  to  lose  the  other  thorns  or  not?" 

"If  you  thought  you  could  get  an  answer  to 
that  by  bringing  me  out  here,  you  are  very  much 
mistaken." 

"I  brought  you  out  here  because  you  said  they 
hurt  less  in  the  moonlight." 

"But  you  mustn't  forget  this  same  moon  shines 
everywhere.  While  we  are  talking  here  it  is  shi- 
ning all  the  way  across  the  ocean.  When  is  it 
Annie  gets  back?" 

"Saturday,"  answered  Adrane.  "Don't  think 
in  the  least  I  am  forgetting  that.  I  made  a  blun- 
der to-day  in  trying  to  tell  of  my  first  impressions 
of  you,"  he  went  on.  "I  failed  to  find  the  right 
word  to  describe  how  I  seemed  to  find  you." 

"You'd  best  let  it  go.  Imr,  vements  don't  al- 
ways improve.  And  even  esta:es  have  feelings." 

"I  want  to  risk  it,  anyway.  I  said  'simple';  I 
meant  '  unspoiled.' ' 

"You  are  back  to  town  to-morrow?"  she  mur- 
mured unconcernedly. 

"Unavoidably."   ' 

"Then  perhaps  I  may  hope  to  remain  unspoiled 
a  while  longer.  You  go  to  Lady  Steel." 

155 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"She  is  at  most  only  a  lady  in  waiting." 

"To  whom?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "Shall  I  tell  you  to 
whom  I  wish  she  might  be?" 

Merrilie  looked,  unmoved,  at  the  moonlighted 
sea.  "I  dare  say  I  could  guess." 

"Don't  be  overconfident." 

She  stood  motionless,  but  there  was  a  little 
hard  note  in  her  question  when  it  came.  "To 
whom,  then?" 

"To  an  unspoiled  goddess." 

They  were  standing  close  together.  She  drew 
her  wrap  carelessly  across  her  wrist,  but  he  turned 
and,  taking  the  garment  from  her,  laid  it  again 
over  her  shoulders.  Without  speaking,  she  caught 
the  folds  in  her  left  hand  and,  standing  within  the 
lee  of  his  arm,  put  back,  with  the  hand  nearest 
him,  the  ringlet  that  the  south  wind  had  blown 
again  across  her  temple. 


156 


She  drew  her  wrap  carelessly  across  her  wrist,  but  he  turned 

and,  taking  the  garment  from  her,  laid  it 

again  over  her  shoulders. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  JT^RNESTO  put  us  on  the  boat  at  Cherbourg. 

1  J  We  never  could  have  got  off  without 
him,"  declared  Annie,  speaking  to  Merrilie  over 
the  telephone.  "Oh,  your  Paris  house  is  heav- 
enly. I  never  can  thank  you  for  the  time  we've 
had.  Isn't  it  a  shame  I  missed  Edith  and  Guido 
here  by  a  single  day?  John  told  me  they  sailed 
yesterday.  And  oh,  Merrilie,  Venice!  I'll  never 
be  able  to  tell  you  how  they  entertained  us  for 
five  days! 

"How  many  trunks?  Only  thirty-two,  dear,  of 
mine;  no,  excuse  me — thirty-three.  Mamma  had 
twelve.  Just  a  few  heavy  things  are  coming  by 
freight.  I  found  some  stunning  tapestries  in  Lon- 
don. We  couldn't  pick  up  much  in  such  a  hurried 
trip — it's  nothing,  of  course.  And,  Merrilie,  I  am 
simply  dead.  I  slept  nearly  all  the  way  across. 
Come  over  just  as  soon  as  you  possibly  can." 

Adrane  had  gone  down  the  bay  to  meet  the  boat. 
His  first  sight  of  Annie  was  a  shock.  She  looked 
foreign  and  not  quite  natural.  Her  hat  seemed 
queer,  and  for  Annie  to  fail  on  a  hat  was  unheard 

157 


Merrilie  Dawes 

of.  But  when  Adrane  reached  the  deck  she  ran 
to  him  with  such  unaffected  delight  that  he  was 
a  little  conscience-stricken  at  rinding  so  trifling  a 
thing  as  a  new  hat  hard  to  get  used  to.  Annie  her- 
self was  ruddy  with  health,  bubbling  with  spir- 
its, overflowing  with  incident,  and  so  unconscious 
of  others  that  what  she  had  to  say  could  be  en- 
joyed by  those  near  at  hand  as  well  as  by  Adrane. 
This  most  unexpectedly  annoyed  him.  Eyes  were 
directed  their  way,  as  Annie,  between  her  mother 
and  her  fiance,  talked  freely  of  people  she  had  met 
at  the  English  hockey  club  in  Venice  and  of  a 
luncheon  on  board  the  Hohenzollern  yacht  with 
Edith.  He  had  never  before  noticed  that  Annie 
talked  to  be  heard  by  others. 

But  these  were  petty  impressions,  fleeting.  The 
great  thing  was  the  home-coming,  its  labors  and 
excitements.  If  months  had  passed  instead  of 
weeks,  the  moments  could  not  have  been  more 
crowded  with  recounting.  But  Adrane  felt  a  sec- 
ond evanescent  impression  coming  slowly  back, 
and  he  reflected  now  it  was  a  characteristic  that 
the  more  of  an  audience  Annie  had  the  better 
she  talked  of  what  she  had  seen  and  done.  He 
thought  it  odd  he  had  never  before  observed  it. 

Then  all  of  Adrane's  story  was  to  be  heard;  and 
at  the  last,  one  moment  of  surprise  and  disap- 
pointment. 

158 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"John!"  cried  Annie  when  he  told  her  in  tri- 
umph he  had  successfully  sold  his  railroad. 

He  looked  at  her  without  quite  understanding. 
"What  is  it?" 

"Sold  the  road!  And  what  about  our  private 
car — where  will  you  keep  that  now?" 

He  smiled  good-naturedly.  "That  went  with 
the  sale,  of  course.  When  you  sell  a  railroad 
you  sell  your  stock,  and  that  includes  all  prop- 
erty; don't  you  see?" 

Annie's  eyes  fell.  "No,  I  don't  see,"  she  pro- 
tested with  nai've  grief.  "Why  need  you  sell  the 
car  at  all?  Surely,  you  didn't  need  the  money, 
John?" 

He  felt  almost  nettled  at  her  simplicity. 
"Annie,  the  car  was  not  my  private  property." 

Adrane  paused,  waiting  for  the  comprehension 
to  sink  in.  It  did  not  sink.  Some  moments 
went  to  explaining.  To  every  attempt  to  make 
things  clear,  Annie  only  responded:  "I  went 
down  and  picked  out  the  decorations  myself 
and  you  ordered  them  exactly  as  I  specified — 
I  certainly  don't  see  why  the  car  isn't  ours, 
John." 

No  effort  could  save  the  evening.  Annie  felt 
personally  humiliated;  Adrane,  vexed.  It  was  all 
very  well  for  Adrane  to  urge  that  he  had  made  his 
fortune  by  the  sale;  to  recount  to  Annie  what  a 

159 


Merrilie  Dawes 

long  and  at  times  seemingly  hopeless  struggle  it 
had  been,  waiting  for  some  big  railroad  man  to 
come  along  and  pay  him  and  his  backers  their 
price  for  their  daring  and,  many  wise  men  held, 
unsuccessful  venture.  What  had  that  to  do, 
Annie  asked,  in  frank  disappointment,  with  her 
car? 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  bear  the  blow,  to  suffer 
uncomplainingly — but  she  was  resolved  to  suffer. 
She  thought  of  all  the  friends  that  had  been  told 
of  the  decorations,  and  the  explanations  to  face 
were  appalling;  but  she  determined  to  bear  it  for 
John. 

Merrilie  went  over  next  day  while  the  glow  of 
the  journey  was  still  fresh.  Annie  came  in  with  a 
lap-dog  in  her  arm  so  tiny  that  Merrilie  gasped. 
"Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  it?"  she  asked. 

"Through  Ernesto,  Merrilie.     Isn't  he  a  dear?'* 

"What  do  you  call  him?" 

"Piccolo." 

Annie's  eyes  reflected  her  delight  in  Merrilie's 
surprise  at  the  pretty  things  she  had  brought  back. 
Her  face  glowed  so  that  only  a  miser  could  have 
begrudged  her  her  happiness.  Her  voice  was  so 
clear  and  fresh  that  everything  she  said  engaged 
Merrilie's  interest.  And  when  Annie  told  of 
Edith's  hospitality  in  Venice  the  story  grew  spir- 
ited: the  afternoons  at  the  hockey  club  on  the 

1 60 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Lido;  the  entertainments  proffered  by  Guide's 
own  family — such  men,  such  women,  such  charm; 
and  how  Edith  had  enhanced,  among  all  Vene- 
tians, the  reputation  of  American  girls. 

Annie,  in  telling  it  all,  took  on  a  prettier  air  than 
ever.  She  seemed  to  have  brought  back  some- 
thing of  the  distinction  of  the  Venetian  centuries 
themselves.  Merrilie  only  wished  it  might  have 
struck  deeper.  Within  a  week  something  of  it 
had  evaporated.  Annie  had  grown  restless  again 
and  turned  to  her  calendar  of  days. 

Mrs.  Tilden  came  in  one  afternoon  to  see  Mrs. 
Whitney  and  found  Annie  at  home  alone.  Ad- 
rane's  name  came  into  the  conversation.  Annie 
was  proud  of  the  great  sale  he  had  made,  and 
incidentally  told  Mrs.  Tilden  of  her  disappoint- 
ment over  the  car.  Mrs.  Tilden  approved  An- 
nie's own  idea  of  self-sacrifice. 

"It  is  right,"  she  said  calmly,  and  with  her 
mouth  puckered  into  many  lines  of  suffering  per- 
sistently endured.  "We  women  have  to  bear  our 
burdens  uncomplainingly.  And  you — you  have  a 
man  worth  bearing  them  for.  I — but  no  matter. 
Mr.  Adrane,  every  one  says,  will  be,  in  the  next  ten 
years,  the  man  of  this  country.  No  one  has  so 
brilliant  prospects.  Of  course,"  added  Mrs.  Til- 
den, "such  a  man  can't  help  being  popular.  I 
myself  don't  always  blame  exceptional  men  for 

161 


Merrilie  Dawes 

doing  foolish  things.  I  do  blame  the  reckless 
girls  that  turn  their  heads  with  adulation." 

"I  hope  you  don't  mean  any  one  is  turning 
John's  head?"  observed  Annie,  laying  her  hand 
apprehensively  on  her  little  dog. 

Laura  hastened  to  disavow.  "By  no  means. 
Mr.  Adrane,  I  think,  is  everywhere  esteemed,  and 
popular  beyond  everything.  He  seems  to  please 
the  most  exacting:  you  know,  if  there  is  a  critical 
person  in  all  New  York,  Merrilie  Dawes  is  one." 

"Merrilie  is  critical,"  assented  Annie. 

Mrs.  Tilden  clinched  the  verdict  with  a  smile. 
"She  has  taken  more  interest  in  Mr.  Adrane  while 
you've  been  gone  than  she  ever  took  in  any  man 
in  her  life  that  I  know  of — and  I  have  known  Mer- 
rilie since  she  was  a  child.  Indeed,  I  taught  her 
everything  until  she  insisted  on  going  to  that 
French  convent.  She  certainly  must  feel  you  are 
making  a  brilliant  match — and  so  you  are,  dear. 
Mr.  Adrane  told  you  of  the  beautiful  dog  Merrilie 
gave  him?" 

"  Dog ?  Why,  no;  what  dog  ? "  demanded  Annie 
nervously. 

"She  gave  him  her  Stumah  II — the  collie  that 
took  the  novice  prize  two  years  ago.  Mr.  Tilden 
was  offered  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  him 
right  after  the  bench-show.  Don't  you  remember 
his  beautiful  picture  in  the  newspapers,  Annie? 

162 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Of  course  you  do.  Merrilie  sent  him  up  to  Mr. 
Adrane's  apartments  a  fortnight  ago.  The  dear 
girl  certainly  is  generous  when  she  likes  any  one. 
I  have  always  said  that  of  Merrilie." 

Julia  Robbins  was  announced.  "Isn't  it  nice," 
continued  Mrs.  Tilden,  "to  see  Merrilie  looking 
so  young  and  pretty  again?  She  seems  to  take  a 
new  interest  in  life  in  spite  of  her  years.  You 
heard  about  Mr.  Adrane  getting  lost  with  her  in 
the  woods  one  afternoon  at  Sea  Ridge?" 

"No,  I  didn't  hear." 

"Julia  can  tell  you,"  smiled  Mrs.  Tilden.  "I 
suppose  you've  noticed  how  heavy  Julia  has 
grown  ? " 

Julia,  her  soft  brown  eyes  starting  forward  a 
little  as  if  from  surprise  at  the  distinct  and  sus- 
tained pressure  in  the  vicinity  of  her  heart  and 
lungs,  came  in  well-groomed  but  breathing,  as 
always,  carefully.  Julia  asked  for  a  cigarette. 
Annie  rang  and  ordered  tea  also.  Mrs.  Tilden 
took  tea  only,  and  puckered  her  loose  lips  into 
a  mass  of  virtuous  pockets.  "I  was  just  telling 
Annie  about  Merrilie's  getting  lost  with  Mr. 
Adrane  up  at  Sea  Ridge " 

v"Lost?"  echoed  Julia,  letting  her  lids  droop 
before  she  lifted  her  eyes. 

"What  was  it?"  demanded  Annie  restlessly. 

"Well,  Merrilie  called  it  lost."  Julia  smiled  at 
163 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Annie  as  she  composedly  drawled  her  intimation. 
"And  you  know  how  innocent  Merrilie  is.  That 
girl  makes  me  tired  with  her  behavior."  Julia 
rose  to  get  a  handkerchief  from  her  hand-bag,  and 
having,  with  the  prudence  of  the  unhappily  plump, 
reseated  herself,  began  to  fan  vigorously. 

"Merrilie  doesn't  mean  any  harm,  Julia,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Tilden.  "You  know  she  doesn't. 
It's  just  her  way  with  a  new  friend,"  she  smiled 
with  pain. 

"Well,  Mr.  Adrane  certainly  was  patient  with 
her.  If  he  was  bored,  he  gave  no  evidence  of  it. 
I  don't  blame  him  in  the  least.  I  think  he  is 
dear,  Annie,  truly  I  do.  And  isn't  it  fine  that  he 
and  his  brother  have  made  so  much  out  of  their 
railroad  sale?  Everybody  is  talking  about  it. 
And  every  one  says,  Annie,  you  will  distance  every- 
body in  town  yet.  I  hope  to  heaven  you  will." 

It  took  Julia  some  time  to  tell  the  whole  story 
of  the  Sea  Ridge  week-end,  but  she  got  it  all  in 
before  she  and  Mrs.  Tilden  left. 

When  Adrane  arrived  in  Madison  Avenue  a 
little  later  from  down-town,  Annie,  slightly  flushed 
about  the  eyes,  greeted  him  with  constraint.  She 
introduced  Merrilie's  name  into  the  conversation 
and  watched  Adrane  while  he  spoke  of  her.  She 
asked  so  many  questions  about  when  and  where 
he  had  seen  Merrilie  during  her  own  absence  that 

164 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane  felt  wonder  at  her  persistence.  But  he 
was  frank  and  made  no  concealment  of  his  admira- 
tion for  Merrilie,  and  his  new  understanding  of  her. 

The  conversation  had  developed  a  suggestion 
of  friction  when  Annie's  maid  brought  in  Piccolo. 
Annie  cuddled  him  affectionately,  Adrane  looking 
on  without  comment.  "John,"  exclaimed  Annie, 
presently,  with  an  air  of  conviction,  "I  don't 
think  you  care  for  Piccolo  a  bit.'* 

Adrane  protested  Piccolo  was  agreeable  to  him, 
but  Annie  was  not  to  be  convinced,  and  he  was 
rather  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  his  interest 
in  the  tiny  pet  was  not  acute. 

"I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  help  loving  an 
exquisite  little  creature  as  appealing  as  this," 
murmured  Annie,  resting  her  chin  regretfully 
against  Piccolo's  diminutive  head. 

"I  never  could  get  up  as  much  interest  in  a  little 
dog  as  in  a  big  one,"  admitted  Adrane. 

"Why?"  demanded  Annie  gravely,  thinking 
things  to  herself. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Dogs  like  that," 
he  nodded  toward  Piccolo,  "are  abnormal.  You 
know  how  the  little  wretches  are  bred 

"Wretches,  John!" 

"Well,  their  fate  is  certainly  wretched.  You 
couldn't  help  pitying  them,  if  you  think  of  it. 

Starving  and  selection  and  all  that " 

165 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Annie  gazed  at  Piccolo;  she  was  evidently  hurt 
and  had  no  intention  of  saying  more.  Adrane 
stumbled  on,  trying  to  set  Annie  right,  but  he  had 
only  a  listless  auditor.  When  Annie  did  speak 
again,  which  was  not  until  after  he  had  begun  to 
show  restiveness  himself,  her  tone  was  conciliatory, 
and  she  gave  him  opportunities  to  refer  to  his 
gift  from  Merrilie.  These  he  did  not  improve. 
Annie  at  length  asked  him  pointblank  about 
Stumah.  As  soon  as  the  dog  was  mentioned,  Ad- 
rane talked  of  him  with  enthusiasm,  and  when 
Annie  wanted  to  know  why  he  hadn't  spoken  of 
him  before,  Adrane  answered  he  had  done  so  in  a 
letter.  A  question  of  fact  arose.  Adrane  stuck 
to  his  assertion,  and,  by  summoning  Mrs.  Whitney 
as  witness,  succeeded,  in  a  way,  in  establishing  his 
contention;  in  a  way,  because  even  her  mother's 
confirmation  did  not  wholly  satisfy  Annie.  Her 
mother,  she  knew,  had  before  now  borne  testimony 
to  bring  peace  to  troublesome  disputes,  and  might 
be  doing  it  again. 

"If  you  did  mention  it,"  persisted  Annie,  after 
she  had  been  overborne,  and  her  mother  had  left 
the  room,  "you  said  nothing  about  her  giving  you 
a  dog  worth  a  modest  fortune." 

"Very  modest,  I  imagine." 

"She  refused  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  him 
after  the  bench-show." 

166 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane  showed  some  annoyance.  "I  never 
heard  of  that.  And  Merrilie,  of  course,  doesn't 
sell  dogs." 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  accept  a  present 
like  that  from  Merrilie  Dawes,  John." 

He  flushed.  "It  did  not  occur  to  me  to  refuse 
it,"  he  said. 

"It  just  makes  talk,"  declared  Annie  sorrow- 
fully. ' 

"Nonsense,  Annie;  what  can  have  put  such  an 
idea  as  that  into  your  head?" 

"I  think,  John,"  she  repeated,  deliberating, 
"you  ought  to  send  Stumah  back  to  Merrilie." 

Adrane  started  visibly;  nor  was  the  resentment 
he  felt  all  reflected  in  his  manner.  He  merely 
drew  back  his  shoulders:  "My  dear  Annie,  that 
is  absurd." 

"It  isn't  absurd." 

"I  think  it  hopelessly  so." 

"I  do  not." 

"Surely  you  don't  mean  it  seriously." 

"John,  I  do  mean  it  seriously.  I  don't  want 
your  name  associated  with  an  expensive  gift  from 
Merrilie  Dawes." 

To  Adrane's  consternation,  Annie's  eyes  filled. 
He  was  upset,  at  first,  then  gentle  and  consoling; 
but  he  succeeded  indifferently  with  his  consola- 
tion. As  he  comforted  her,  Annie  insisted  on 

167 


Merrilie  Dawes 

her  wish  that  Stumah  be  returned.  Adrane  re- 
sisted. He  was  obstinate,  Annie  declared.  She, 
Adrane  contended,  was  unreasonable.  They  parted 
under  a  strain. 

It  was  five  o'clock.  Annie,  recovering  her  calm 
after  the  front  door  closed,  returned  to  her  room. 
She  was  paler  than  usual  about  the  lips  as  she 
threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  her  set  mouth  re- 
flected her  feelings. 

It  was  the  first  time  Adrane  had  refused  her 
anything,  and  her  feeling  grew  during  every  mo- 
ment that  she  thought  over  what  she  had  heard 
during  the  afternoon.  Nor  did  her  anger  cool 
with  recollection.  It  seemed  rather,  as  it  grew, 
to  clear  her  perceptions  and  to  reveal  clearly 
Merrilie's  perfidy.  Annie,  especially  in  those 
matters  in  which  she  considered  she  had  not 
been  treated  right,  sometimes  made  up  her  mind 
quickly.  She  rang,  ordered  the  limousine  to  the 
door,  and,  getting  on  her  hat  and  gloves,  awaited 
it  with  impatience.  She  had  taken  a  resolve  which 
she  meant  to  lose  no  time  in  carrying  out.  When 
she  stepped  into  her  car  she  gave  orders  to  drive 
to  Merrilie's. 

Merrilie  herself  emerged  from  the  library  as 
Annie  was  ushered  in  from  the  vestibule.  The 
expression  in  Annie's  eyes  showed  the  intensity 
of  her  feeling,  and  a  pink  spot  in  either  cheek  con- 

168 


Merrilie  Dawes 

trasted  with  a  white  in  her  face  more  pronounced 
than  usual.  The  firmness  of  her  mouth  arrested 
Merrilie's  attention,  and  she  responded  stiffly  to 
Merrilie's  greeting. 

"I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,  alone."  Annie's 
dry,  quivering  tone  implied  something  serious,  but 
Merrilie  surmised  nothing  of  what  was  impending. 

"Come  right  up-stairs,  Annie,"  she  exclaimed 
sympathetically. 

Annie,  without  hesitation,  looked  toward  the 
east  room.  "It  will  be  better  down  here." 

"Just  as  well."  Merrilie  waited  for  Annie  to 
pass  and  followed  her  into  the  room.  Annie,  her 
parasol  clinched  stiffly  in  her  hand,  sat  down  on 
the  divan. 

"Close  the  door,  please,  will  you?"  she  asked 
before  Merrilie  could  join  her. 

Merrilie,  with  growing  surprise,  closed  the  door 
and  taking  her  handkerchief  from  her  belt  sat 
down  beside  Annie.  "What  in  the  world,  dear, 
has  happened?" 

Annie,  looking  apprehensively  at  Merrilie, 
moved  somewhat  away  from  her.  "Don't  call 
me  dear,  please,  for  a  moment,"  she  said,  still 
regarding  her  friend  fixedly.  "Merrilie,  why  are 
you  trying  to  take  John  Adrane  away  from  me?" 

Merrilie  inwardly  reeled.  But  she  returned 
Annie's  look  steadily,  and  her  feeling  showed 

169 


Merrilie  Dawes 

only  in  her  instant  reply.     "Annie,  what  do  you 
mean?" 

With  their  excitement  growing  every  instant, 
each  eyed  the  other.  "I  trying  to  take  Mr.  Ad- 
rane  away  from  you?"  echoed  Merrilie,  coloring. 
"What  on  earth  has  put  such  an  idea  into  your 
head?" 

Annie  seemed  hardly  able  to  control  herself,  and 
Merrilie's  anger  contributed  to  the  blaze  of  her 
own.  "He  has  been  spending  all  his  time  with 
you,"  she  exclaimed.  "He  has  been  writing  most 
in  his  letters  about  you.  Wherever  he  has  been 
seen,  it  was  with  you." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Merrilie  whitened.  "Annie, 
Mr.  Adrane  has  'been  with  me'  just  as  my  other 
friends,  and  yours,  have  been." 

"At  Sea  Ridge  you  ran  away  from  all  the  others 
and  spent  hours  in  the  woods  with  him." 

Merrilie's  heart  stopped  beating.  Her  breath 
almost  refused  to  come.  "Annie,"  she  rejoined, 
not  restraining  her  resentment,  "some  one  has 
simply  poisoned  your  mind." 

Annie  lifted  her  hand.  "Do  you  deny  it?"  she 
demanded  heatedly. 

"I  don't  deny  we  were  together,"  replied  Mer- 
rilie angrily,  "sometimes  through  mere  chance.  I 
spent  many  more  hours  at  Sea  Ridge  with  Guido, 

Harry  Drake " 

170 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Annie  cut  her  off.  "Whom  did  you  spend  an 
hour  with  in  the  garden  Sunday  night  at  one 
o'clock,"  she  asked  passionately,  "when  every  one 
else  was  in  the  billiard-room?" 

"With  no  one.  I  walked  through  the  garden 
Sunday  night  with  Mr.  Adrane,"  retorted  Merrilie 
defiantly.  "Was  that  a  crime?  Am  I  accountable 
to  you  for  walking  with  Mr.  Adrane  in  Mrs. 
Hamersley's  garden  when  we  are  thrown  together 
at  a  week-end?"  she  flamed,  rising.  "You  are  in- 
tolerable, insulting.  I  won't  endure  it." 

Annie  rose,  eager  and  trembling.  "Merrilie 
Dawes,  you  are  perfectly  despicable.  You  have 
everything  in  this  world,  and  always  have  had, 
that  I  ought  to  have  had — means,  chances,  atten- 
tions— everything  I  wanted  and  have  been  de- 
prived of — and  you  try  to  rob  me  of  the  man  that 
wants  to  marry  me,  when  I  am  your  guest  in  Paris 
— at  your  own  invitation.  You  think,  with  your 
money,  you  can  play  fast  and  loose  with  whom 
you  please.  You  have  done  it  with  other  men." 

With  blazing  eyes  Merrilie  listened,  but  she 
made  no  effort  to  check  the  outburst.  "  Every  one 
knows  you  have  been  nothing  but  a  flirt  all  your 
life,"  trembled  Annie  in  her  fury;  "but  I  never 
dreamed  you  would  take  advantage  of  me  in  such 
a  way.  Merrilie  Dawes,  I  hate  you!"  she  sobbed. 

Merrilie  stood  rigid.  It  was  a  moment  before 
171 


Merrilie  Dawes 

she  could  frame  words.  When  she  did  speak  her 
voice  was  unnatural.  "Annie,"  she  said  slowly, 
"this  is  nothing  new;  you  have  always  hated  me. 
From  the  first  time  you  ever  came  to  this  house 
to  play  with  my  dolls  you  hated  me.  You  have 
gone  home  and  cried  half  the  night  because  I  had 
one  more  Japanese  doll  than  you.  I  thought  your 
dislike  of  me  had  died  out  when  you  outgrew 
your  childhood.  It  never  has  died;  it  never  will. 
Now  some  malicious  wretch  has  poisoned  your 
mind  about  Mr.  Adrane  and  me,  and  you  burst 
into  a  fury  without  finding  out  whether  there  is 
any  foundation  for  the  slanders.  I  despise  your 
accusation.  It  is  falsehood.  You  dare  not  tell 
me  who  has  accused  me." 

Annie  raised  her  streaming  eyes.  "Don't  think 
for  an  instant  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Dare  not  tell 
you!"  she  echoed  contemptuously.  "Laura  Til- 
den  told  me." 

Merrilie  started.  "Oh!  That  viper!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "And  you  take  Laura  Tilden's  accusa- 
tion against  me,  do  you,  Annie  Whitney?"  de- 
manded Merrilie  vehemently. 

"Laura  Tilden's  husband  is  good  enough  to  take 
care  of  your  affairs. " 

"He  doesn't  take  care  of  my  affairs.  He  does 
what  I  direct  him  to  do,"  blazed  Merrilie.  "And 
if  I  had  taken  his  wife's  continual  slanders  against 

172 


Merrilie  Dawes 

him  I  shouldn't  have  him  near  me  now.  Laura 
Tilden  was  not  at  Mrs.  Hamersley's.  The  mali- 
cious wretch  has  patched  up  something  Julia 
Robbins  told  her,  and  between  them  they've  made 
up  a  tissue  of  falsehood.  Annie  Whitney,  I 
wouldn't  condemn  a  dog  on  the  word  of  such 
women." 

The  declaration  proved  unlucky.  "And  you 
gave  him  a  twenty-thousand-dollar  collie  besides." 

"If  Mr.  Adrane  is  likely  to  be  turned  from  his 
devotion  to  you  by  a  collie  puppy,"  returned  Mer- 
rilie scorchingly,  "I  should  advise  you  to  turn  the 
puppy  loose  and  chain  up  your  fiance.  I  decline 
to  lower  my  dignity  any  further  by  squabbling 
over  this  contemptible  affair.  If  you  wish  ever 
again  to  say  anything  about  my  conduct  toward 
Mr.  Adrane,  you  will  please  bring  him  to  me,  with 
you." 

Annie  interrupted.  Merrilie  poured  forth  invec- 
tive. Both  talked  at  once.  The  footman  wait- 
ing in  the  hall  pricked  up  his  ears.  Then  the 
door  of  the  east  room  was  flung  open,  Annie  with 
tear-stained  face  hurried  through  it,  and,  behind 
her,  Merrilie  with  angry  eyes  curtly  signalled  the 
servant  to  attend  the  door.  When  it  closed  behind 
Annie,  Merrilie,  fainting  with  excitement,  tried  to 
walk  up-stairs.  Her  knees  carried  her,  trembling 
and  uncertain,  from  step  to  step.  The  instant  she 
had  closed  and  bolted  her  room  door  behind  her 

173 


Merrilie  Dawes 

she  felt  the  burning  in  her  cheeks  of  rage,  aston- 
ishment, and  humiliation. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  first  furious  hour  of  Merri- 
lie's  unruffled  life.  Sensations  of  wrath,  pangs  of 
wounded  pride,  stingings  of  conscience  swept  over 
her  as  she  recalled  the  incredible  scene  down-stairs. 
Annie's  words  made  Merrilie  resolve  to  retaliate. 
Her  manner  excited  in  Merrilie's  recollection  the 
utmost  violence  of  resentment — something  that 
cried  for  vengeance. 

She  was  readily  determined  never  to  see  or 
speak  to  Annie  again,  and  became  slowly  con- 
scious, sitting  with  both  hands  clenched  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair,  of  how  fast  and  hard  she  was 
breathing  as  the  recollection  of  the  shocking 
quarrel  drove  like  a  hurricane  through  her  mind. 
She  was  almost  defiantly  glad  at  the  last,  that  it 
was  all  out — all  of  Annie's  long-cherished  jealousy, 
the  concealed  hatred  of  the  Whitneys  for  the 
Daweses.  She  knew,  too,  the  vicious  treachery 
of  Mrs.  Tilden,  and  a  dozen  revengeful  purposes 
flashed  through  her  mind.  In  her  surging  wrath 
she  could  have  ordered  all  of  her  accusers  be- 
headed together. 

But  vengeance  unexecuted  will  exhaust  itself 
in  a  normal  mind,  even  though  it  issues  in  aver- 
sion for  its  object.  Depression,  together  with  dis- 
gust for  everything  and  every  one,  overcame  Mer- 
rilie as  her  anger  subsided.  She  began  to  think 

174 


Merrilie  Dawes 

of  Adrane  himself  and  in  her  mind  to  go  over 
every  detail  of  her  words  and  acts  while  with  him. 
The  suspicion  that  she  was  perhaps  a  little  guilty 
— innocently  guilty — began  to  assail  her.  But 
could  there  be,  she  asked  herself,  any  just  grounds 
for  Annie's  outrageous  accusation?  It  was  not 
pleasant  to  think,  even  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own 
heart,  that  there  possibly  could  be.  But  Merrilie 
forced  herself  to  think,  and,  thinking,  she  was  de- 
fiant and  unwilling  to  condemn  herself. 

She  had  been,  she  admitted,  frankly  attracted 
to  Adrane.  He  had  been,  apparently,  just  as 
frankly  attracted  toward  her — was  that  treason 
to  Annie?  Was  it  criminal  to  divert  one's  self,  in 
conventional  fashion,  with  Annie's  fiance  when  she 
was  thrown  with  him?  Had  not  Annie  herself 
moved  heaven  and  earth  many  times  to  get 
Harry  Drake  away  from  her?  She  felt  disdainful 
of  her  accusers.  She  might  have  been,  she  con- 
ceded, a  little  careless,  but  she  knew  not  design- 
ing, when  with  Adrane.  Perhaps  in  a  word,  an 
intonation,  she  might  have  erred — never  in  any- 
thing more.  Her  conduct  had  not  been  other 
than  that  which  American  girls  freely  permit 
themselves,  and  upon  the  score  of  moderation  in 
this  respect  her  conscience  brought  to  Merrilie  no 
reproaches.  She  had  merely  been  natural  with 
Adrane,  he  with  her.  It  was  pleasing  to  recall 


Merrilie  Dawes 

how  a  mutual  liking  had,  in  this  natural  way 
alone,  developed.  All  she  could  be  accused  of, 
she  felt,  was  that  for  a  few  weeks  she  had  let  a 
mutual  attraction  drift — nothing  more.  As  for 
any  design  on  Mr.  Adrane,  Merrilie  knew  her- 
self incapable  of  such. 

Yet  her  self-vindication  did  not  leave  her  quite 
happy.  She  felt  instinctively  that  there  must 
have  been  a  talk,  perhaps  a  scene,  between  Annie 
and  Adrane  before  Annie  had  angrily  burst  in  on 
her.  Had  her  own  name  been  bandied,  or  any- 
thing she  had  said  or  done,  between  the  two? 
Was  a  fresh  humiliation  awaiting  her  in  Adrane's 
own  view  of  their — their — could  it  be  tortured  into 
the  name  of  a  mild  flirtation?  Could  Adrane 
have  thought  it  such  and  possibly  have  used  such 
an  expression  in  justifying  himself  to  his  jeal- 
ous fiancee?  If  so,  it  implied  that  he  considered 
Merrilie  had  lowered  herself — her  cheeks  burned 
afresh — far  enough  to  engage  an  interest  in  him. 
Dare  he  justify  himself  by  accusing  her?  A  burn- 
ing wave  overwhelmed  Merrilie  with  the  thought. 
Sleepless  on  her  pillow  that  night,  her  suspicions 
fell  keenly  on  Adrane.  She  was  angry  that  she 
had  not  demanded  from  Annie  just  what,  if  any- 
thing, he  had  said.  She  was  angry  with  him, 
angry  with  herself,  filled  with  anger  for  her  tra- 
ducers,  sick  to  death  of  the  world. 

176 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DAY  brought  to  Merrilie  a  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing and  the  suspicion  that  she  might  have 
been  overscrupulous;  that  she  was  lacerating  her- 
self not  because  she  had  been  too  reckless,  but 
because  she  was  too  conscientious.  Resentment 
toward  Annie,  who  had  directly  humiliated  her, 
was  pretty  definitely  coupled  with  resentment  to- 
ward Adrane.  If  he  had  done  nothing  more,  he 
had  engaged  himself  to  marry  Annie,  and  this  in 
itself  was  condemnation  enough.  Annie,  in  the 
cold  light  of  an  angry  detachment,  was  subjected 
to  a  searching  criticism  which  issued  in  a  new 
aversion  for  her  weaknesses. 

Tilden  had  a  conference  for  the  noon  hour. 
Merrilie  dared  not,  in  conscience,  say  anything 
to  him  about  his  wife  for  fear  he  might  drown  his 
humiliation  in  an  unbecoming  fashion.  He  left 
before  luncheon,  and  in  the  afternoon  Merrilie, 
arraying  herself  with  defiant  gayety,  ordered 
horses  and  carriage  for  a  drive.  Her  Aunt  Jane, 
who  was  always  boring  her  to  drive,  did  not,  it 
happened,  want  to  go.  Merrilie  insisted.  She  was 

177 


Merrilie  Dawes 

minded  to  make  people  do  that  day  as  she  pleased. 
When  the  two  walked  together  to  the  carriage 
step,  Merrilie's  eye  inspected  the  equipage  from 
liveries  to  harness-chains  in  merciless  fashion. 
Nothing  was  at  fault.  The  trappings  were  ir- 
reproachable, and  on  the  box  the  face  of  the  old 
coachman  beamed  such  gratitude  that  Merrilie 
was  gratified  at  having  ordered  the  horses  out. 
It  had  been  weeks  since  she  had  even  seen  her 
driver's  face.  And  as  Merrilie  seated  herself 
beside  her  aunt  it  brought  a  fleeting  memory  of 
her  father  and  their  last  drives  together. 

But  the  difficulties  of  getting  up  the  Avenue, 
crowded  with  motor-cars,  with  a  team  were  almost 
insuperable.  Even  in  the  Park  the  horses  seemed 
pocketed  much  of  the  time,  and  the  chauffeurs  in- 
solently ignored  their  dignity.  Her  aunt,  in  the 
circumstances,  was  not  an  enlivening  companion. 
She  was  old,  and  nearly  always  crabbed,  and  now 
was  doing  something  she  had  no  mind  to  do.  Mer- 
rilie decided  to  seek  next  time  a  young  companion 
— though  not  too  young,  lest  that  should  make 
her  seem  old.  And  on  reflection  she  could  think 
of  no  one  just  fitted  for  such  a  need.  Her  own  in- 
terest in  her  attempt  to  secure  diversion  for  the 
afternoon  soon  died. 

Before  they  had  turned  home,  Merrilie  felt  that 
the  horses,  the  coachman,  Aunt  Jane  were  out 

178 


Merrilie  Dawes 

of  date — and  she  herself  twenty-five.  The  land- 
scapes of  the  Park  were  stupid — an  unfortunate 
contrast  to  the  nurtured  simplicity  of  the  Bois,  to 
which  she  had  become  attached.  Driving  home, 
she  doubted  whether  she  should  ever  care  to  see 
the  Park  again,  and  could  not  shake  off  the  re- 
curring thought  of  being  twenty-five  years  old, 
chained  to  a  hateful  old  relative,  a  now  mournful 
old  house,  surrounded  by  old  servants,  and  the 
prey  of  a  loneliness  from  which  the  sole  escape 
seemed  some  man  in  whom  she  took  no  interest. 
And  her  youth — where  was  it?  Gone.  Yet,  not 
gone,  she  said  bitterly  to  herself,  because  she  had 
never  had  any — except  with  her  father.  And, 
after  all,  youth  must  have  been  meant  for  some- 
thing more  than  even  a  devoted  parent. 

She  had  been  at  home  less  than  an  hour  when 
Rose  brought  a  card  in  to  her.  It  was  John  Ad- 
rane's.  Merrilie's  mind  had  been  already  made 
up.  "Not  at  home,  Rose,"  she  said  almost  curtly. 
But  after  she  had  spoken  the  words  she  was  un- 
easy. Outside  her  door  she  heard  Rose  repeating 
her  message.  Some  sort  of  a  qualm,  she  could 
not  have  said  what,  crept  over  her.  But  she 
would  not  see  Adrane.  Why  should  he  call  on  her 
when  clearly  he  belonged  to  some  one  else?  She 
had  in  thought  anticipated  his  coming,  and  fancied 
that  in  rebuffing  him  she  should  feel  the  satisfac- 

179 


Merrilie  Dawes 

tion  of  vindicating  herself.  But  he  had  come  and 
gone  away,  and  Merrilie  experienced  nothing  other 
than  an  increasing  aversion  for  everything  in  life, 
including  Adrane  himself. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  he  was  her  continual  interest 
in  thought.  She  wondered  next  day  whether  he 
would  try  to  see  her  again.  In  the  afternoon  she 
was  at  Mrs.  Hamersley's.  When  she  came  home 
Rose  took  her  hat  and  Merrilie  walked  to  a  window 
of  her  boudoir  and  looked  down  the  Avenue.  A 
big  motor-car  stood  at  her  curb  step.  The  very 
first  person  she  saw  was  crossing  the  sidewalk 
toward  the  door,  and  his  eyes  were  raised  and 
bent  upon  her  as  she  stood  clasping  the  curtain 
in  one  hand.  It  was  Adrane.  Merrilie  turned 
instantly  from  the  casement  and  went  to  her 
writing-desk.  A  moment  later  she  heard  steps 
in  the  hall  and  was  prepared. 

"It  is  Mr.  Adrane,"  Rose  announced  in  French. 

"I  am  not  at  home,  Rose."  The  message  went 
down.  Merrilie's  temples  burned,  for  this  was  a 
very  different  situation.  He  must  have  seen  her, 
and  the  cut  was  complete — and  irremediable. 
After  the  incident  she  was  less  at  ease  than  the 
day  before.  Harry  Drake  had  the  evening  for  a 
theatre-party.  The  play  gave  Merrilie  time  to 
wonder  whether  in  the  afternoon  she  had  been  in- 
excusably rude.  She  could  not,  or  would  not, 

1 80 


Merrilie  Dawes 

decide,   but   the   suspicion   that    she    had    beenr 
lingered. 

Some  time  after  she  had  reached  home  she  was 
called  on  the  telephone.  Rose  gave  her  the  in- 
strument. 

"Is  this  Miss  Dawes?"  In  an  instant  of  forget- 
fulness  Merrilie  heard  the  question  unsuspectingly. 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"Miss  Dawes,  this  is  John  Adrane."  Merrilie 
felt  trapped,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  face 
it  out. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Adrane,"  she  answered  evenly. 

"I  called  on  you  yesterday  but  without  finding 
you  at  home." 

"I  am  sorry." 

"And  again  to-day." 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  am  sorry,"  she 
repeated,  only  varying  her  intonation. 

"I  was  sorry,  too — so  sorry  that  I  have  ven- 
tured to  call  up  to  ask  whether  you  are  declining 
to  see  me." 

Merrilie  was  silent. 

"I  am  hoping,  of  course,"  he  added,  during  the 
pause,  "that  I  was  mistaken  even  in  thinking  it 
could  be  so." 

"Mr.  Adrane,"  returned  Merrilie,  her  pulses 
racing  with  excitement,  her  face  burning  to  her 
ears,  and  her  voice  rebellious  but  controlled. 

181 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"I  thought,"  she  continued,  determined  to  make 
a  start  toward  ending  the  situation,  "I  was  doing 
what  was  best." 

"If  I  were  not  sure  of  that  I  shouldn't  have 
called  you  up.  I  suppose  I  may  confess  how 
stunned  I  was." 

"I  had  no  wish  to  seem  rude.  I  did  not  feel 
equal  to  seeing  any  one." 

"Anyone?" 

"You  should  not  press  me  too  closely." 

"After  seeing  you  to-night  at  the  theatre " 

"An  engagement  I  could  not  cancel,"  rejoined 
Merrilie  protestingly. 

"I  understand.  May  I  not  see  you  for  just  a 
few  moments  some  day  very  soon?" 

She  hesitated,  but  spoke,  after  a  pause,  with  de- 
cision. "I  think  it  would  be  better  not,  Mr. 
Adrane." 

"Will  you  tell  me  why?" 

"You  know — something  very  painful  has  hap- 
pened." 

"Several  unpleasant  things  have,  but  nothing 
to  prevent  my  seeing  you." 

"Frankly,  it  would  hurt  Annie's  feelings,  Mr. 
Adrane,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  wound  her." 

He  paused.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  lower  tone,  and 
in  his  words  she  heard  regret  rather  than  any 

182 


Merrilie  Dawes 

discomposure  at  her  explanation.  "I  did,"  he 
said  slowly,  "wish  very  much  to  see  you  to- 
day." 

Merrilie  relented  the  least  bit.  "What  did  you 
wish  to  see  me  about?"  she  asked  with  prudent 
reserve. 

Adrane  paused.  "You  will  think  it  absurd,  but 
I  asked  myself  that  very  question  driving  home  to- 
night, and  I  couldn't  really  answer  it  clearly.  I 
do  want  to  see  you,  if,  for  nothing  more,  to  tell 
you  how  mortified  I  am  that  you  should  have 
been  the  innocent  victim  of  a  misapprehension  of 
Annie's " 

"Please  don't  give  that  any  thought." 

"If  I  could  see  you " 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  that,  and  I  think  you 
had  better  not." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  refuse  to  see  me  at 
all." 

"For  the  present,  it  is  better  I  should  not  see 
you." 

Urge  what  he  could,  and  Adrane  did  not  hesitate 
to  urge  strongly,  Merrilie  would  not  see  him. 
And  though  he  held  on  long  it  was  without  avail. 

On  the  following  day,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, Merrilie  was  at  home  and  a  card  was 
brought  to  her.  She  took  it  from  the  tray  and 
it  was  Adrane's. 

183 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  am  not  at  home." 

"The  gentleman  did  not  wait,"  explained  the 
servant;  "he  only  asked  the  card  be  given  Miss 
Dawes." 

The  next  day  Merrilie  was  out.  On  her  return 
to  dinner  she  found,  among  other  visitors,  that 
Adrane  had  called. 

"Find  out,  Rose,"  directed  Merrilie,  "at  what 
time  Mr.  Adrane  was  here." 

"I  saw  his  car  at  the  door  about  five  o'clock, 
mademoiselle,"  responded  Rose. 

"Do  you  know  whether  he  asked  if  I  was  in?" 

Rose  made  inquiries.  "He  asked  only  that  his 
card  be  given  Miss  Dawes,"  she  reported. 

Merrilie  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "A  protest," 
she  said  to  herself. 

She  affected  to  treat  it  at  first  with  contempt; 
then  with  indifference.  But  she  was  neither 
wholly  contemptuous  nor  completely  indifferent. 
She  was  interested  in  spite  of  her  attempts  to  be 
indifferent,  and  was  likewise  curious  to  know  what 
might  be  going  on  in  Madison  Avenue.  The  next 
day  Mrs.  Hamersley  called.  Merrilie  took  her  to 
her  own  favorite  room  up-stairs,  still  called  the 
nursery. 

Mrs.  Hamersley,  resting  a  moment  after  she  sat 
down,  regarded  the  big'  fireplace  retrospectively. 
"Merrilie,  do  you  know  I  never  envied  your  dear 

184 


Merrilie  Dawes 

mother  but  once.  That  was  when  she  moved  into 
this  house.  And  I  told  her  so.  Well,  how  are 
you?  And  why  have  I  never  guessed  before  that 
my  little  Merrilie  was  a  really  volcanic  personage  ? 
Why  didn't  you  ever  tell  me?" 

"Volcanic!  Aunt  Kate,"  exclaimed  Merrilie. 
"Why  volcanic?  What  can  the  matter  be  now?" 

"Why,  child,  you've  started  an  earthquake  over 
in  our  little  neighborhood.  Annie  is  having  hys- 
terics; Adrane  has  become  unmanageable;  Mrs. 
Whitney  is  at  her  wits'  end  to  restore  the  peace; 
and  I — well,  to  be  frank,  I  am  the  scapegoat — and 
all  on  account  of  Merrilie." 

"  Poor  Merrilie ! "  echoed  Merrilie.  "  Do  tell  me 
what  I  am  accused  of  now.  But  don't  let  your  tea 
get  cold.  Just  give  it  to  me  piecemeal." 

"I  never  gave  Belle  Whitney  credit  for  so  much 
tact,"  continued  Mrs.  Hamersley  reflectively. 
"She  really  has  saved  a  difficult  situation." 

"Is  it  as  serious  as  that?"  demanded  Merrilie 
suspiciously. 

"Serious!  Well,  with  Annie  frantic  with  jeal- 
ousy— you  know  what  a  firebrand  dear  little  Annie 
is  sometimes — John  Adrane  as  sullen  as  a  Sioux 
Indian,  and  Mrs.  Whitney  upbraiding  me  for  ruin- 
ing Annie's  future  with  my  poor  little  house-party, 
things  have  been  fairly  serious,"  intoned  Mrs. 
Hamersley  lazily.  "When  affairs  reached  their 

185 


Merrilie  Dawes 

worst — young  people  are  so  explosive — and  Belle 
couldn't  calm  John  Adrane  any  longer,  she  made 
me  send  for  him.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
And  what  do  you  suppose  I  had  on  my  hands?  A 
bear — the  sullenest,  stiffest,  most  obstinate  man  I 
ever  talked  to.  He  was  going  to  break  the  en- 
gagement— oh,  determined  to.  I  appealed  to  him, 
on  every  ground  I  could  think  of,  not  to  do  it." 
Mrs.  Hamersley  leaned  back  heavily.  "I  am 
completely  used  up." 

Merrilie  declined  to  avail  herself  of  the  chance 
to  interpose  a  word. 

"I  thought  for  an  hour,"  continued  Mrs. 
Hamersley,  "I  should  fail  miserably,  and  finally 
convinced  him — or,  I  suppose,  more  accurately, 
bullied  him  into  conceding — that  his  honor  was 
involved  and  it  would  be  disgraceful  for  him  to 
break  his  engagement.  I  asked  him  to  consider 
what  a  position  it  would  put  me  in,  and,  most  of 
all,  what  a  position  it  would  put  you  in,  Merrilie." 

Merrilie's  eyes  had  in  them  a  look  of  steel  they 
could  at  infrequent  moments  harden  to. 

"Most  of  all,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hamersley,  "I 
begged  him  to  consider  the  position  it  would  put 
you  in  to  have  such  a  story  abroad — putting  your 
house  in  Paris  at  the  disposal  of  Annie,  while  you 
were  stealing  her  fiance  from  her  at  home." 

"I  put  it  at  her  disposal,"  burst  Merrilie,  "be- 
186 


Merrilie  Dawes 

cause  Annie  had  hinted  so  long  about  my  doing  so 
I  was  ashamed  not  to — why  didn't  you  say  that?" 

"I  didn't  know  it." 

"It's  the  truth,"  declared  Merrilie  hotly. 

"Even  so,"  continued  Mrs.  Hamersley  calmly, 
"it  would  not  matter.  People  would  believe  it 
designed,  and  I  told  John  so.  How  he  squirmed 
when  I  put  it  in  that  way!  I  told  him  you  cared 
nothing  for  him" — Merrilie's  eyelids  never  moved 
— "and  that  it  would  involve  your  name  most 
unpleasantly  if  he  were  to  break  his  engagement. 
Was  I  right?" 

"How  can  I  tell?"  asked  Merrilie  with  a  touch 
of  scorn  as  well  as  of  habitual  prudence.  "You 
know  the  situation  better  than  any  one  else." 

"He  was,  at  least,  more  amenable  after  I  had 
hammered  that  idea  at  him.  I  simply  told  him 
that  if  he  refused  to  protect  us  in  so  delicate  a 
matter  we  should  disown  him." 

"  Protect  us ?"  exclaimed  Merrilie,  dumfounded. 
Two  round  spots  burned  in  her  cheeks.  "Surely, 
you  didn't  bring  my  name  in  it  in  that  way?" 

"No;  I  said,  protect  me,"  explained  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley remorselessly.  "It  is  all  the  same.  I  knew 
just  how  you  would  feel.  Annie  has  lost  her  head, 
that's  all.  She  wanted  him  to  send  back  the  dog 
you  gave  him." 

Merrilie's  hand  shut.     "Oh!" 
187 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"He  refused  persistently.  I  told  him  he  was 
right." 

The  blaze  in  Merrilie's  eyes  did  not  lessen. 
"And,  with  all  the  rest  of  it,  the  poor  man  is  just 
in  the  midst  of  making  his  steel  market!  He 
hasn't  time  to  eat  or  sleep.  Isn't  it  perfectly  ab- 
surd? I've  sent  to  Chicago  for  his  sister.  She 
made  the  match,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  left  Merrilie  unpleasantly 
dazed.  While  her  visitor  remained,  she  could 
decide  on  nothing  to  do  or  to  say.  As  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley had  rambled  on,  Merrilie  had  cast  up  her 
mental  accounts  over  and  over  again  without  ven- 
turing to  put  down  the  totals.  And  at  the  very 
moment  of  Mrs.  Hamersley's  departure  something 
confusing  had  occurred.  Mrs.  Hamersley  had 
hardly  seated  herself  in  her  limousine  before  the 
door  when  Adrane's  big  car,  coming  from  down- 
town, slowed  up  immediately  behind  it  waiting  for 
the  step.  Merrilie  saw  the  incident.  A  malicious 
satisfaction  came  to  her  in  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Hamersley's  astonishment  at  seeing  Adrane's  car 
stopping  again  at  her  door.  In  the  momentary 
contretemps  Merrilie's  mind  cleared  the  air  for 
action.  A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  a  rebellion 
at  the  position  she  was  now  being  put  in  toward  Ad- 
rane,  swept  over  her  and  she  took  a  new  resolve. 

With  the  trepidation  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  she  rang 
1 88 


Merrilie  Dawes 

for  Rose  and  ran  to  her  mirror.  The  hurried  in- 
spection of  her  features,  eager  with  excitement  and 
anticipation;  of  her  glowing  eyes,  steady  with  reso- 
lution; the  running  of  her  finger-tips  around  those 
obstinate  little  hollows  where  a  longed-for  plump- 
ness should  be  in  her  cheeks;  the  nervous  pushing 
at  her  belt-buckle,  which  because  of  her  slender 
figure  never  dreamed  of  pushing  itself  up,  all  went 
quickly  while  she  waited  for  Adrane  to  be  an- 
nounced; and  all  proclaimed  that  Merrilie  meant 
at  last  to  see  him.  She  meant  to  consent  to  that 
talk  he  had  asked  for — the  talk  concerning  which 
he  had  confessed  he  didn't  know  what  he  meant 
to  say  and  in  which  she  certainly  did  not  know 
what  she  was  going  to  say — they  should  have  it — 
with  a  formal  reproof  for  him,  she  reflected,  as 
both  her  hands  flew  over  her  brown  hair,  for  being 
so  absurd  as  to  leave  his  card  every  day  for  a 
week  without  even  asking  for  her.  Obviously,  he 
must  learn  not  to  take  a  woman's  "no"  too  seri- 
ously; but  how,  without  saying  too  much,  could 
she  tell  him  so? 

The  knock  came  at  her  door.  Rose  had  run 
into  the  bedroom  for  a  handkerchief  and  Merrilie 
opened  to  take  the  card  herself.  She  was  careful 
enough  to  hear  the  footman's  message  before  she 
spoke,  but  she  looked  keenly  at  him.  It  was 
almost  a  moment  of  fate,  Merrilie  felt.  She  was 

189 


Merrilie  Dawes 

minded  now  to  brush  aside  every  fictitious  diffi- 
culty and  let  come  what  would — nothing  or  every- 
thing. The  servant  spoke.  "With  Mr.  Adrane's 
compliments  to  Miss  Dawes." 

"Say  I  will  be  down,"  said  Merrilie  quickly. 

"He  did  not  wait." 

The  door  closed  before  the  man  could  turn 
from  it. 

Within  an  hour  Merrilie  had  regained  her  self- 
control.  The  fever  for  breaking  all  restraint  and 
facing  every  consequence  had  subsided — a  little 
tartly,  perhaps,  but  it  was  gone.  She  felt  only 
calmly  disappointed  with  Adrane — out  of  patience 
with  him.  If  he  had  waited!  What  might  not 
have  happened  in  that  hour?  But  were  not  men 
always  stupid? 

It  was  Saturday.  Nor  could  Merrilie  know 
what  effect  a  day  of  rest  would  have  upon  Ad- 
rane's own  study  of  his  intimate  personal  problem. 
At  all  events,  on  Monday  Adrane  called  at  five 
o'clock  with  the  feeling  that  his  protest  had  been 
carried  far  enough.  At  five  o'clock  he  rang,  and 
this  time  asked  to  see  Miss  Dawes. 

Kennedy  acknowledged  the  card  with  a  barely 
perceptible  smile.  "Miss  Dawes,"  he  said,  "is 
out  of  town." 

A  confused  recollection  that  he  had  noticed  the 
drawn  shades  when  he  ascended  the  steps  swept 

190 


Merrilie  Dawes 

over  Adrane.     "Out  of  town?"  he  echoed,  taken 
aback. 

"Miss  Dawes,"  explained  Kennedy,  in  his 
slight,  dry,  low-pitched  voice,  "sailed  this  morn- 
ing for  Paris." 


• 


191 


CHAPTER  XV 

ADRANE'S  first  sight  of  Merrilie's  house  in 
the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday  recalled  the  day  on  which  he  had 
first  driven  up  to  it  with  Annie  and  Mrs.  Whitney. 
It  made  him  think,  too,  of  her  home  in  New  York. 
With  allowance  the  two  places  were  not  unlike. 
The  Paris  house,  though  large,  was  smaller  and 
without  the  ample  setting  of  Merrilie's  New  York 
home;  but  the  decided  differences  became  notice- 
able once  more  only  when  Adrane,  an  hour  after 
his  arrival  in  Paris,  had  been  admitted  by  Ernesto, 
who  served  the  door,  and  was  shown  through  a 
familiar  small  reception-room  opening  to  the  right 
to  a  similar  room  back  of  it,  in  which  when  he  sat 
down  he  saw  again  a  full-length  portrait  of  Richard 
Dawes. 

Ernesto  remembered  Mr.  Adrane  very  well.  He 
liked  all  Americans,  whom  he  deemed  princely. 
Adrane  sent  no  card  to  Merrilie,  but  confided  his 
desire  to  surprise  Miss  Dawes,  and  Ernesto  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  pleasantry.  He  sent  to  his 
mistress  word  that  an  American  friend,  passing 
through  Paris  and  on  his  way  to  New  York,  asked 

192 


Merrilie  Dawes 

to  see  her  for  a  moment.  And  he  brought  word 
down  that  Miss  Dawes  would  see  the  American 
friend.  Some  moments  of  delay  followed.  Ad- 
rane  looked  around  the  room,  but  nothing  except 
the  portrait  fixed  itself  in  his  mind  and  he  stared 
at  it.  To  him  it  was  vitally  interesting,  and  he 
was  still  regarding  it  when  he  heard  a  quick,  light 
tread,  to  which  his  ear  seemed  used,  coming 
through  a  room  opening  on  the  one  in  which  he 
was  sitting.  Merrilie,  quite  fresh  and  composed, 
halted  on  the  threshold  in  dismay  as  her  eyes  fell 
on  Adrane.  Involuntarily  she  drew  back  and  her 
composure  momentarily  deserted  her. 

"Mr.  Adrane!"  she  exclaimed,  almost  staring. 

Adrane,  his  head  bent  a  little  in  the  familiar, 
uncertain  angle  he  liked  to  assume,  stood  before 
the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen. 

"What?"  demanded  Merrilie,  recovering  her 
breath  while  she  looked  searchingly  into  his  eyes, 
"has  brought  you  to  Paris?" 

His  characteristic  smile  and  his  usual  calm- 
ness showed  how  undisturbed  he  was.  "I  came  to 
see  you,"  he  answered  coolly. 

Merrilie  resisted  her  impulse  to  make  light  of  the 
surprise  and  merely  advanced  a  step  to  take  a  chair 
as  she  motioned  him  to  be  seated.  But  he  did  not 
sit  down,  and  Merrilie,  standing  by  her  own  chair, 
spoke.  "You  understand,  Mr.  Adrane,  why  I 

193 


Merrilie  Dawes 

couldn't  see  you  in  New  York?"  she  asked  to 
bridge  the  awkward  pause. 

"Perfectly." 

"The  same  reasons,"  she  added,  though  not 
without  a  shade  of  consideration,  "make  it  just  as 
hard  for  me  to  see  you  in  Paris."  With  the  words 
she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  chair  and  motioned 
him  to  be  seated. 

Adrane,  sitting,  looked  at  Merrilie  half  seriously 
and  half  humorously,  but  took  a  tantalizing  inter- 
val to  answer  in.  "I  know,"  he  assented  after  the 
long  pause. 

"So,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  spare  me?" 
she  demanded;  but  she  did  not  put  the  question 
as  resentfully  as  she  meant  to;  in  spite  of  her  in- 
flexible intention,  it  fell  almost  flat.  There  were 
moments,  she  found,  in  talking  with  him,  in  which 
her  assurance  sustained  her  perfectly;  but  there 
were  moments  when  without  any  reason  it  capri- 
ciously deserted  her. 

"I  wanted  very  much  that  you  should  see  me," 
he  urged,  embarrassed  in  turn. 

Merrilie  summoned  all  her  rigor.  "And  as  de- 
cently as  I  could,  I  declined,  Mr.  Adrane.  It  was 
due  to  myself  to  do  so,  and  I  must  do  so  still." 

Again  he  embarrassed  her  by  a  pause.  "I  hope 
you  are  not  going  to  turn  me  right  out,  Merrilie," 
he  said.  And  he  seemed  to  speak  unmoved. 

194 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  answered  with  some  vexation.  "No, 
Mr.  Adrane,  I  am  not  going  to  turn  you  out,  since 
you  say  you  have  come  to  see  me.  I  am  going 
to  see  you,  and  in  doing  so  to  expose  myself  to 
further  humiliating  criticism.  Does  that  satisfy 
you  ? " 

"I  deny  the  right  of  any  one  to  criticise  you," 
he  replied. 

"Though  that  does  not  prevent  the  criticism," 
returned  Merrilie  dryly.  "What  is  it,  then,"  she 
demanded  with  an  inward  flutter,  "that  you  per- 
sist so  in  wishing  to  see  me  about?" 

"Frankly,"  he  answered,  hesitatingly  "I  don't 
know." 

"You  don't  know?"  cried  Merrilie  blankly. 
"And  you  crossed  the  ocean  to  say  this?  Pray, 
when  did  you  reach  Paris?" 

"At  noon." 

"At  noon!  But  when  did  you  leave  New 
York?" 

"The  day  after  you  left." 

"How  could  you  get  here  so  soon?" 

"By  Fishguard  and  Calais.  Mrs.  Hamersley 
insisted  it  would  expose  you  to  further  humiliation 
if  I  broke  my  engagement — is  that  so  ? " 

He  could  ask  startling  questions,  reflected  Mer- 
rilie, in  spite  of  his  deliberate  manner.  She  felt  a 
crisis  upon  her  but  under  fire  made  up  her  mind 

195 


Merrilie  Dawes 

instantly.  Her  answer  was  disconcerting  in  its 
frankness.  "Mr.  Adrane,  Annie  and  I  have  been 
lifelong  friends.  No  serious  difference  has  ever 
come  between  us — I  do  not  speak,  of  course,  of 
childish  quarrels  and  girlish  misunderstandings. 
You  may  realize  how  crushed  I  felt  when  she  came 
to  me  with — the  complaint  that  I — that  you — 
oh,  why  do  you  force  me  to  refer  to  the  detest- 
able subject!"  she  exclaimed.  Blood  mantled  her 
face.  She  tried  to  back  up  her  words  with  a 
severe  look,  but  her  eyes  fell;  that  added  to  her 
annoyance. 

"I  don't  force  you,"  interjected  Adrane  in- 
stantly. 

Merrilie  gave  him  no  chance  to  speak.  "If  you 
have  her  confidence  you  certainly  understood," 
she  declared  with  emphasis. 

"I  do  understand.  All  I  want  to  know  is  where 
— how  you  stand  now." 

She  made  an  angry  gesture.  "Aloof,  I  hope 
and  pray,  from  the  whole  wretched  business." 

"If  I  have  exposed  you  to  humiliation,  and  it 
would  expose  you  to  still  more " 

"Oh,  don't  let  us  speak  of  it.  Can't  we  forget 
it?  Do  not  think  of  me  in  the  matter.  I  ask  no 
consideration  of  any  sort  whatsoever — only  never 
to  hear  of  the  subject  again." 

His  eyes  fell  to  the  carpet.  She  thought  he 
196 


Merrilie  Dawes 

would  never  answer,  and  her  heart  beat  beyond 
control.  "No  doubt  you  are  right.  I  think  per- 
haps I  understand,"  he  remarked  at  length, 
though  poor  Merrilie  quite  realized  that  he  did 
not  at  all  understand.  What  she  further  realized 
was  that  if  she  but  lifted  her  finger  she  could  take 
him  from  Annie,  and  that  she  must  not  do. 
He  seemed  densely  stupid  in  this,  though  acute 
in  so  much  else.  He  was  going  at  the  thing 
in  quite  the  blundering  way  of  a  considerate 
man. 

Yet  his  very  stupidity  did  not  alienate  sym- 
pathy. Merrilie  even  wanted  to  help  him;  she 
rather  longed  to  set  him  right — and  a  glance 
from  her  eyes  would  have  done  it,  but  she  dared 
not  on  her  life  venture  the  glance.  To  know  that 
his  sympathy  was  all  with  her  and  not  with  Annie 
was  like  enjoying  something  that  did  not  really 
belong  to  her. 

"Pray,  then,"  she  interrupted  in  a  softened  tone, 
and  letting  her  hand  fall  definitively  on  her  knee, 
"do  let  us  put  it  all  aside  and  forget  all  about  it." 
She  drew  a  deep  breath.  "My  conscience!"  she 
exclaimed,  invoking  precisely  the  mentor  she 
should  not  have  summoned,  considering  that  she 
now  meant  to  sip  of  a  forbidden  cup.  "I  can't 
get  over  the  shock  of  seeing  you  here — in  this 
house,  in  this  room.  What  could  have  possessed 

197 


Merrilie  Dawes 

you?"  she  demanded,  dwelling  incredulously  on 
every  word  of  her  question — a  question  which  even 
Adrane  understood  was  not  to  be  answered. 
"And  those  were  your  flowers  brought  up  a  few 
moments  ago.  They  are  beautiful,"  'she  con- 
fessed, as  if  it  were  a  wrongful  thing  condoned. 
"But  for  a  cool-headed,  restrained,  sensible 
American  business  man  to  do  such  a  thing  as  to 
run  from  New  York  to  Paris  like  this!"  Her 
frown  of  incredulity  was  restrained,  even  dignified, 
but  it  was  sadly  effective.  If  Merrilie  felt  that  it 
smacked  of  cruelty  to  profit  by  a  situation  not  of 
her  making,  she  justified  herself  at  the  moment  by 
remembering  the  cruelty  of  the  world.  She  real- 
ized she  was  growing  hard-hearted,  careless,  per- 
haps, of  consequences;  but  the  moment  that 
brought  Adrane  back  to  her  after  she  had  formally 
resisted  him  was  a  grateful  one,  and  Merrilie  had 
about  decided  not  to  put  any  more  grateful 
moments  behind  her  until  they  passed  in  their 
regular  chronological  way — even  that,  she  felt, 
would  be  soon  enough.  "Of  course  you  had 
other  business  on  this  side?"  she  asserted  with 
assumed  confidence. 

"Not  a  scrap,"  returned  Adrane  without  a 
trace  of  humor. 

Merrilie  looked  at  him,  reflecting  blank  amaze- 
ment tempered  only  by  a  hint  of  restrained  merri- 

198 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ment.     She  raised  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of 
despair.     "My  guest,  solely?" 

He  brightened  a  grim  shade.  "Your  guest, 
solely." 

She  looked  down  at  her  hand  depending  now 
from  the  arm  of  her  chair.  It  was  a  fair  hand 
with  only  an  Indian  ruby  on  one  finger  but  that 
contrasted  vividly  with  its  whiteness. 

"When  are  you  going  back?"  she  asked,  add- 
ing hesitatingly:  "I'm  asking  so  rude  a  ques- 
tion only  to  arrange  some  little  time  for  you — if 
I  can." 

"I  am  leaving  Paris  to-night  at  eleven." 

Merrilie  refused  the  temptation  to  utter  a  dis- 
sent. She  merely  shook  her  head  at  the  hopeless- 
ness of  it  as  she  asked:  "Which  way?" 

"I  catch  a  German  boat  at  Cherbourg." 

"Giving  me  hardly  time  even  to  dress  for  a 
visitor  of  distinction.  I  doubt  whether  my  trunks 
are  up." 

"Of  course,  you  know,  I  didn't  come  to  see  you 
arrayed.  I  came  just  to  see  you." 

Merrilie  tossed  her  head.  "Though  perhaps 
you  will  let  me  be  the  judge  of  how  I  should  pre- 
fer to  be  seen  by  American  visitors.  However, 
it  is  too  late  to  discuss  trifles.  We  must  make 
something  of  the  hours.  You  know  Paris.  What 
should  you  like  to  see  this  afternoon?" 

199 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  don't  know  Paris.  I  should  like  to  see  you 
this  afternoon." 

"Don't  be  absurd.  You  must  see  something 
of  the  town.  And  by  the  way,  do  you  know  you 
have  never  given  Viola  your  profile  for  the  nuptu- 
ale  he  is  making  for  Annie?  This  is  your  chance 
to-day!" 

"No!" 

Merrilie  almost  started  at  the  emphasis  of  the 
refusal.  "Mercy,"  she  remonstrated,  "don't  take 
my  head  off.  I  suppose  I  must  be  patient  with 
my  poor  little  box.  Since  you  are  bound  to  be 
obstinate  you'd  better  suggest  something  your- 
self." 

"Your  afternoon  is  engaged?"  asked  Adrane 
gloomily. 

"No,  but  I  am  a  wretched  one  to  run  about 
town  in  the  daytime.  Before  dinner  I  rarely  at- 
tempt anything  more  than  a  drive  in  the  Bois." 

"Drive  in  the  Bois  with  me." 

"Oh,  no;  I  would  suggest  your  driving  with 
me  except  that  it  is  so  threatening  to-day." 

"Threatening?"  echoed  Adrane  incredulously, 
stepping  to  the  window  to  draw  back  the  curtain. 
"Not  at  all;  the  day  is  perfect." 

"Is  it?"  questioned  Merrilie  in  turn,  and  even 
more  incredulously,  as  she  joined  him  to  look  out. 
"It  has  cleared  a  little,  hasn't  it?  Of  course, 

200 


Merrilie  Dawes 

driving  is  stupid  for  a  man — and  your  time  is  so 
short— 

"I  couldn't  ask  anything  more  than  to  drive 
with  you,"  urged  Adrane. 

Merrilie  considered  the  sky  dubiously.  "Horses, 
should  you  think,  or  a  motor?"  The  appeal  was 
deftly  delivered. 

"Horses,  if  you  leave  it  to  me." 

"We  can't  go  far,"  she  objected,  "with  horses." 

"But  we  should  get  back  too  soon  with  a  car. 
I  don't  want  to  go  far,  anyway.  Drive  around 
the  block  all  the  afternoon." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would  spare  a  con- 
temptuous rejoinder.  "I  like  horses  much  bet- 
ter for  the  Bois,"  she  returned  calmly,  "and  I 
must  dress." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't." 

Merrilie  opened  her  eyes.     "Why  not?" 

"It  wastes  so  much  time." 

"Nonsense.  No  time,"  she  added  gravely,  "is 
so  well  spent  by  a  woman." 

She  waved  his  continued  objection  aside: 
"Don't  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread — just 
possess  yourself  in  impatience  till  I  come  down. 
The  horses  by  that  time  will  be  at  the  door." 

"And  this" — he  gazed  about  the  room  as  he 
rose — "is  where  you  live 

Merrilie  paused.  "These  French  interiors  ap- 
201 


Merrilie  Dawes 

pear  cold  to  us;  one  gets  used  to  them — and  grows 
to  like  them." 

She  led  Adrane  to  a  rear  room  and  a  tableful 
of  books.  When  she  came  down  she  was  arrayed 
from  tip  to  toe  in  white,  the  only  touch  of  color 
being  in  her  lavender  plumes  and  the  lavender 
lining  of  her  parasol.  Lace  hanging  from  her  hat 
brim  softened  her  face,  with  its  straight  nose,  firm 
mouth,  and  girlish  under  lip.  Her  eyes  burned 
newly  and  seemed  to  restrain,  without  condemn- 
ing, a  smile  that  brought  Adrane  with  an  ex- 
clamation to  his  feet. 

The  formal  equipage  at  the  door,  the  impatient 
horses,  the  nervously  alert  and  watchful  attend- 
ants combined  to  give  Adrane  the  impression  of  a 
function  as  the  two  left  the  house  together.  Hand- 
ing Merrilie  to  her  seat  and  taking  his  place 
beside  her,  he  felt  as  if  attending  a  personage. 
She  spoke  in  low  and  even  tones  of  Paris,  as  they 
started  down  the  avenue.  When  they  reached 
the  cool  woods  she  directed  the  conversation 
along  innocuous  channels.  Adrane  chafed,  but 
he  found  himself  securely  leashed  and  resigned 
himself  a  bit  dully  to  the  commonplace.  When  he 
grew  over-dull  Merrilie  judiciously  restored  him 
to  spirit. 

They  came  to  open  country  with  Adrane  some- 
what in  the  dumps.  "You  are  not  quite  happy," 

202 


Merrilie  Dawes 

observed  Merrilie.  "What  is  it  you  don't  like — 
my  white?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him.  "It  was  a 
risk  to  try  lace,  I  know,"  she  added,  overbearing 
his  protest.  "I  yielded  to  Rose." 

"I  do  like  it.  I  like  everything.  You  never 
looked  so  charming." 

"I  suppose  I  invited  an  insipid  compliment,  so 
I  am  the  one  to  apologize,  not  you.  And  it  was 
only  that  you  seemed  distrait;  I  couldn't  think 
what  was  the  matter."  He  twisted  about  as  if  he 
wanted  to  say  something,  but  she  would  not  let 
him.  "I  have  something  unpleasant  to  tell  you," 
she  continued.  "Don't  look  startled.  It  isn't 
awfully  serious — only  unpleasant  for  me  to  ex- 
plain. My  dear  aunt — who  left  New  York  on  two 
days'  notice,  very  much  against  her  will — does  pe- 
culiar things.  She  is  not  guided  at  all  times  by 
my  wishes.  And  if  she  hears  of  your  being  in 
Paris  and  calling  on  me  she  is  morally  certain  to 
let  Mrs.  Whitney  know  at  once  that  you  have 
been  here." 

Adrane  showed  brusqueness:  "I  care  nothing 
about  that." 

"But  I  do  care,  very  decidedly.  And  it  forces 
me  to  to  seem  inhospitable.  I  wanted  you  to  dine 
with  us  at  home." 

"That  is  very  kind  but  I  couldn't  have  thought 
of  it." 

203 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Couldn't  you!"  echoed  Merrilie.  "You  could- 
n't have  thought  of  anything  else  but  for  this 
complication.  So  let  me  confess  everything.  I 
haven't  told  you,  either,  that  Edith  and  Guido 
are  here.  You  won't  be  sorry  to  hear  that,  I 
know.  They  are.  And  they  are  coming  to  our — 
to  the  rescue.  We  shall  dine  at  a  funny  little 
rotisserie  near  Versailles.  It  is  a  favorite  place  of 
Guido's.  He  suggested  it  and  has  arranged,  and 
Edith  and  he  are  motoring  out  later.  After  our 
drive  we  meet  them  at  the  inn,  send  the  horses 
home,  and  motor  back  together — see  the  criminal 
subterfuges  to  which  you  put  a  helpless  American 
girl." 

Adrane's  revival  of  spirits  was  almost  vehement. 
"Thank  Heaven  one  American  girl  is  equal  to 
them,  particularly " 

"Particularly,  if  she  has  lived  awhile  in  Paris." 

"No — particularly,  if  she  is  the  cleverest  of 
American  girls." 

"Don't  be  vapid." 

"But,  Merrilie,  I  am  sick  to  death  of  the  real 
truth.  It  oppresses  me.  I  want  to  be  rid  of  it — 
to  have  it  out.  I  feel  as  if  we  were  playing  two 
parts." 

"And  if  we  are,  whose  fault  is  it  that  I  am  forced 
to  play  a  part,  and  that  quite  a  thankless  one,  in 
your  concerns?"  He  tried  to  break  in.  "Don't 

204 


Merrilie  Dawes 

speak — I  forbid  you.  Just  play  your  own  as  you 
have  agreed  to.  I  am  too  amiable  as  it  is,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  straightened  herself  and  read- 
justed her  cobweb  parasol  to  the  sunshine.  "There 
is  the  racing-course — Longchamps,"  she  added. 
"But,  of  course,  you  know." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  say,"  protested  Adrane, 
ignoring  the  field  she  indicated.  "All  I  want  to 
find  out  is,  what  you  want." 

"That,"  rejoined  Merrilie  lightly,  "is  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world :  To  make  your  absurd  trip  to 
Paris,  to  ask  one  absurd  question,  as  agreeable  to 
you  as  I  may  without  raising  another  hornets' 
nest  about  my  own  ears — is  that  plain?"  Then  a 
laugh  lightened  her  voice  and  eyes.  She  looked  at 
him:  "Do  you  remember  the  bumblebee  at  Sea 
Ridge?" 

"There  be  many  times,  Merrilie,  when  I  can't 
remember  anything  but  the  bumblebee  and  Sea 
Ridge — and  Crossrips.  Lord!  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  you!  It  makes  me  faint  to  think  of 
it." 

"I  want  to  hear  now  all  about  your  market 
campaign,"  said  Merrilie  with  authority.  "Peo- 
ple were  talking  on  the  boat  about  it.  I  am  very 
dense  about  market  operations." 

"This  is,  as  I  told  you,  just  an  ordinary  bull 
campaign." 

205 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"  But  it  can't  be  ordinary,  for  everybody  is  dis- 
cussing it." 

"So  much  the  better." 

"But  just  what  are  you  undertaking  to  do  in  the 
market?"  she  persisted. 

"Make  the  securities  sell  twice  as  high  as  they 
are  selling  now." 

"And  who  is  directing  the  campaign  ? " 

"I  am  supposed  to  be." 

Merrilie  gazed  at  him  severely:  "Don't  you 
think  you  are  magnificently  careless  about  busi- 
ness?" 

He  returned,  undisturbed,  her  critical  look: 
"The  market  campaign  is  not  my  sole  concern." 

Merrilie  grew  ironical.  Adrane  met  her  ridicule 
with  humor.  After  their  long  drive  they  stopped 
in  pleasantly  combative  spirit  before  the  wayside 
inn. 

"I  love  to  come  here,"  confessed  Merrilie,  as  she 
laid  her  hand  in  Adrane's  to  alight  and  he  kept  it 
a  little  longer  than  necessary.  "I  suppose  it's  be- 
cause I  can't  come — alone.  Don't  mind  the  looks 
of  things  about  the  place.  The  appearance  is 
disreputable,  but  the  dinner  will  excuse  all.  If 
Edith  and  Guido  haven't  arrived,  I  shall  die.  In 
fact,  we  shall  just  have  to  drive  away  again." 

Excitement  attended  Merrilie's  appearance  at 
the  rotisserie  door.  Over  the  high  counter,  which 

206 


Merrilie  Dawes 

enclosed  a  space  to  the  left  within  the  first  room, 
beamed  the  delighted  face  of  a  cook  who,  cap  in 
hand,  bent  forward  as  far  as  he  possibly  could  to 
greet  Merrilie  with  smiles  and  welcomes.  On  the 
right  hand,  surrounded  by  a  modest  store  of  wines, 
liqueurs,  and  table  waters,  sat  a  plump  young 
woman  peeling  mushrooms.  She  started  up  with 
a  cry.  From  the  rear  room,  an  elderly  and  gouty 
waiter,  whose  benevolent  nose  too  amiably  re- 
flected the  tag-ends  of  unnumbered  dinner  wines, 
hobbled  urgently  forward.  "Ah!  Monsieur  Fe- 
lix!" exclaimed  Merrilie,  gayly  greeting  the  pro- 
prietor-cook behind  the  counter.  "Annette!"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  wife  with  the  mushrooms, 
"is  the  dinner  good?" 

The  question  was  smothered  in  a  chorus  of 
greetings  and  particulars.  "But  where,"  de- 
manded Merrilie,  cutting  short  an  impulsive  of- 
fering of  exhibits,  "are  Count  Guido  and  the 
countess?" 

"In  the  garden,  mademoiselle,  in  the  garden. 
They  wait." 

"We  will  join  them,"  announced  Merrilie.  She 
nodded  to  the  aged  waiter,  whose  labored  bowing 
pleaded  for  acknowledgment:  "Henri,  you  will 
lead  the  way — and  you  serve,  of  course  ? " 

"It  is  my  honor,  mademoiselle.  To  the  gar- 
den." 

207 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Edith  came  forward  cordially  to  receive  Ad- 
rane's  greeting  and  recalled  their  visit  at  Sea 
Ridge.  Guido  took  the  American's  hand  warmly: 
"But  the  next  time  we  meet,  I  hope,"  he  added,  to 
Edith's  words,  "Venezia!" 

The  dinner,  in  a  very  shabby  pink  room  over- 
looking the  garden,  was  a  series  of  surprises. 
Henri,  marshalling  his  assistants,  forgot  his  gout. 
The  assistants,  unnerved  by  the  importance  of 
the  occasion,  showed  at  moments  traces  of  con- 
fusion and  Guido  accused  Henri  of  having  pressed 
them  from  the  neighboring  fields.  Adrane  begged 
leave  to  ask  questions.  "Felix  used  to  be  Mer- 
rilie's  chef,"  explained  Edith,  "didn't  she  tell  you? 
He  and  Ernesto  both  fell  in  love  with  Annette,  one 
of  the  maids — behold  the  result! — Ernesto  com- 
mitted a  dignified  suicide  by  marrying  Bianca." 

"Felix  bought  the  place  from  a  certain  Paul," 
added  Guido  in  stiff  English.  "The  sign  read 
Paul's  Rotisserie.  Felix,  to  avoid  buying  a  new 
sign,  although  he  was  beginning  a  different  busi- 
ness, had  Paul's  name  painted  out  and  his  own 
painted  in.  There  are  three  floors.  To  dine  on 
the  second  would  be  compromising.  But  even  to 
be  seen  on  the  third  would  be  scandalous." 

" Guido ! "  protested  Merrilie,  "how  can  you ?  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  your  stories  about  Felix. 
His  brother  is  one  of  our  florists,"  she  frowned. 

208 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"It  is  he  who  tells  me,"  added  Guido,  "he  is 
jealous  because  Felix  makes  so  fast  money.  But 
who  would  dare  to  quarrel  with  a  man  who  cooks 
a  dinner  like  this?  And  his  vintages — they  are 
already  far  from  being  despised.  You  are  slight- 
ing a  good  wine  now,  Mr.  Adrane." 

Adrane  raised  his  glass.  Merrilie's  lips  were 
touching  hers.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant. 
Then  Adrane  looked  evenly  back  at  Guido;  he 
wished  the  dinner  might  never  end.  The  restful- 
ness  of  it — the  measured  steps  of  the  red-faced 
Henri,  Annette,  with  excited  face,  peeping  fur- 
tively into  the  room  to  mark  the  success  of 
the  varied  courses,  the  countess  with  her  droll 
murmur  of  pleasantries,  Guide's  unaffected  hos- 
pitality, and,  across  the  lowering  level  of  the 
wine  each  time  he  raised  his  glass,  Merrilie's 
eyes. 

"It's  too  bad  that  our  American  business  man 
must  leave  to-night,"  protested  Guido  as  they 
finally  rose  from  the  table. 

"But  he  thinks  he  may  stay  till  to-morrow," 
observed  Edith,  who  had  been  talking  with  Adrane 
apart.  "I  have  almost  persuaded  him." 

Merrilie  looked  startled  and  then  alarmed. 
"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Adrane  leaves  to-night.  You  must 
not  persuade  him,  Edith."  Merrilie's  companions 
looked  at  her.  "He  must  not  be  imposed  upon," 

209 


Merrilie  Dawes 

she  added  firmly  and  meeting  all  objection  with 
unconcern.  "His  business  affairs  at  home  are  de- 
cidedly urgent." 

"But,  Merrilie,"  pleaded  her  sister,  "he  will  lose 
only  a  day  if  he  stays  over " 

"A  day  is  sometimes  vital  in  New  York,  my 
dears.  Mr.  Adrane  is  going  to-night."  She 
joined  Adrane  as  she  spoke  and  led  the  way  ahead 
of  Guido  and  Edith  to  the  garden  door.  "You 
must  not  miss  going  to-night,"  she  insisted  hur- 
riedly in  English. 

He  was  exasperatingly  slow  in  answering.  "You 
don't  want  me  any  longer." 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "I  don't  want 
to  be  blamed  for  keeping  you  here  one  moment 
and  I  positively  decline  to  be — oh,  don't  you  un- 
derstand," she  demanded,  "what  a  target  for  sus- 
picion I  am?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  reproachful  colloquy. 
"If  anything  should  happen,"  she  continued,  "who 
will  be  blamed  ?  I.  Your  place  is  in  New  York, 
with  your  finger  on  the  market  pulse. " 

"Last  Monday  I  wanted  keenly  to  lay  my  fin- 
ger on  a  pulse  beating  on  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 

Her  solicitude  deepened  with  his  indifference. 
"It  seems  impossible  for  you  to  be  serious.  Here 
you  are  captaining  a  very  important  market 
movement  in  New  York — why,  if  it  should  go 

210 


Merrilie  Dawes 

wrong  you  might  lose  everything  you  have  in  the 
world." 

Guido  and  Edith  had  gone  ahead.  Adrane  took 
Merrilie's  gloves.  "Should  you  think  less  of  me 
if  I  did?"  he  asked,  as  if  deliberating. 

"I  should  think  very  much  less,"  she  exclaimed 
energetically.  "It  would  be  extremely  unpleas- 
ant if  it  happened  through  me.  I  am  horribly 
practical." 

"I  suppose  by  'practical,'  you  mean  hard- 
hearted." 

"Call  it  what  you  please,  I  certainly  mean  it," 
returned  Merrilie  with  spirit.  There  was  even 
something  of  defiance  in  her  eyes.  "And  that 
isn't  all,"  she  added,  setting  her  red  lips  as  she 
separated  an  orchid  from  the  bunch  over  her 
heart.  Then  she  stopped. 

"Say  it,  Miss  Practical,"  pressed  Adrane. 

"It  is  merely  a  generalization.  You  will  find  I 
am  not  the  only  hard-hearted  woman  in  the 
world." 

She  could  not  extinguish  him.  "You  are  the 
only  soft-hearted  woman  I've  ever  known,"  he 
smiled,  "who  imagined  she  was  hard-hearted." 

Merrilie  fingering  the  orchid  kept  her  eyes  down. 
"Just  the  same  you  had  better  get  back  to  New 
York." 

Edith  and  Guido  strolled  past  the  garden  door. 
211 


Merrilie  Dawes 

They  looked  in  questioningly.  Adrane  spoke. 
"It  is  to-night." 

"At  what  hour?"  demanded  Guido. 

"Eleven." 

"Then  there  isn't  time  to  lose,"  remarked 
Guido,  consulting  his  watch. 

Adrane  turned  slowly  to  Merrilie.  His  face 
wore  a  humorous,  helpless  expression.  Her  own 
attention  was  fixed  on  the  orchid  which  she  was 
gradually  tearing  to  pieces.  She  did  not  raise  her 
face  as,  with  a  petulant  expression  around  her 
mouth,  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  Adrane:  "The  night 
express  leaves  at  eleven,"  she  assented,  "yes. 
But " 

"What?" 

"You  can  easily  make  the  boat  if  you  leave  at 
one  o'clock 

"I  was  told  there  was  no  other  train.'* 

"You  can  get  one." 

Adrane's  eyes  lighted  with  a  little  flash.  "A 
special?" 

"Ernesto  arranges." 

"Can  we  reach  Ernesto?"  asked  Adrane,  fast 
waking. 

"Guido,  get  him  right  away  on  the  telephone," 
directed  Edith  impulsively.  She  hastened  her 
husband  to  a  booth. 

Merrilie,  still  looking  down,  stroked  her  dismem- 
212 


Merrilie  Dawes 

bered  bloom.  "If  I  were  only  as  clever  as  you,'* 
sighed  Adrane,  regarding  her  heavily. 

"If  you  were,"  interposed  Edith,  hearing  him 
as  she  returned,  "you  wouldn't  be  in  the  box  you 
are  in." 

"I'm  more  than  usually  stupid  when  I'm  with 
her,"  confessed  Adrane  without  embarrassment. 
"It  is  certain  I  shan't  get  my  wits  back  before  I 
reach  New  York.  But  if  I  never  regain  them  I 
shall  always  be  grateful — "  Merrilie,  waiting  for 
him  to  finish,  looked  up:  "for  this  two-hour  re- 
prieve." 

"But  what  shall  we  do  with  the  two  hours  now 
that  we  have  them?"  demanded  Edith.  "The 
theatre  first?" 

"Countess,"  begged  Adrane,  standing  close  to 
the  two  sisters,  "don't  let  us  go  to  the  theatre. 
Help  me:  I  need  the  two  hours." 

Edith's  eyes  sparkled  as  she  fixed  them  on 
Adrane.  "What  for?" 

"To  learn  from  your  sister  to  be  clever." 

"Perhaps  if  you  were,  you  would  deprive  her 
of  the  pleasure  of  being  clever  for  you.  Let  me 
tell  you,  Merrilie  is  a  great  boss." 


213 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GUIDO  and  Edith  gave  them  every  decent 
opportunity  of  saying  good-by,  but  these 
concessions  Merrilie  persistently  evaded.  During 
the  final  hour  she  took  her  turn  of  wilfulness  and 
refused  to  be  serious.  She  tore  all  of  her  orchids 
to  pieces,  showed  petulance,  answered  questions 
or  ignored  them  as  she  pleased,  and  altogether 
treated  Adrane  so  cavalierly  that  Guido  felt  em- 
barrassed. When  Adrane  did  put  out  his  hand 
to  her  in  parting  it  was  something  of  a  strain  for 
both,  but  Adrane  had  arrived  at  a  mental  conclu- 
sion— a  declaration  of  independence  which  he  did 
not  divulge — that  enabled  him  to  seek  Merrilie's 
eyes  openly  and  in  spite  of  her  disinclination  to 
meet  his. 

Much  against  the  American's  protests,  Guido 
accompanied  him  to  the  station,  where  they  found 
both  Ernesto  and  Adrane's  secretary,  who  awaited 
him  with  a  batch  of  cablegrams. 

"And  you  go  home  from  here?"  asked  Adrane, 
after  he  had  thanked  the  Venetian. 

214 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"To  Senigallia.  When  are  you  coming  to 
Venice?" 

"Next  year,  I  hope." 

"On  your  wedding  journey,  perhaps?" 

"Guido,"  responded  Adrane  energetically,  and 
glancing  at  his  despatches  as  he  spoke,  "I  never 
was  further  from  getting  married  in  my  life." 

"Married  or  single,  come.  But  come  in  April 
before  the  great  warm;  otherwise  you  must  join 
us  in  Cadore." 

A  fortnight  later,  Guido  and  Edith,  going  home, 
left  Merrilie  alone  with  her  Aunt  Jane,  who  felt 
that  she  had  been  kidnapped  into  returning  to 
Paris  at  all.  Her  retaliation  was  soon  conceived. 
For  her  health,  always  a  matter  of  concern  to  her, 
she  began  walking  about  Paris,  beginning  with 
daily  excursions  to  the  Tuileries.  These  walks  she 
gradually  extended  until  she  reached  at  different 
times  the  most  distant  and  unexpected  quarters, 
coming  back  at  night  sometimes  late  for  dinner, 
and  always  in  a  dishevelled  state.  Merrilie  strove 
to  combat  this  vagary,  but  realized  that  her  efforts 
would  be  in  vain.  Her  aunt  declined  to  drive  and 
declined  an  attendant  on  her  walks;  she  insisted 
that  her  health  demanded  the  exercise  and  refused 
to  be  hampered  by  a  companion.  Merrilie,  feeling 
after  each  controversy  with  her  some  qualms  of 
conscience  at  having  brought  her  over  in  such  a 


Merrilie  Dawes 

rush,  as  her  aunt  termed  it,  at  length  submitted 
uneasily  to  the  apprehensions  and  uncertainties  of 
Aunt  Jane's  daily  programme. 

But  submission  was  not  what  Aunt  Jane  desired, 
and  she  undertook  further  measures  of  provoca- 
tion. She  began  getting  lost  in  quarters  of  the 
city  as  widely  removed  from  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de 
Boulogne  as  Montmartre  and  the  cemetery  of  Pere- 
Lachaise — in  which  she  developed  a  melancholy 
and  sustained  interest.  Telephone  calls  from  Mer- 
rilie's  Parisian  friends,  and  sometimes  from 
strangers,  began  to  reach  her,  asking  for  instruc- 
tions concerning  an  elderly  American  lady  claim- 
ing to  be  her  aunt.  The  department  of  the  police 
occasionally  came  into  the  difficulty  and  at  times, 
as  evening  fell,  detectives  brought  in  Aunt  Jane, 
who  joined  her  repentant  exhaustion  to  the  anx- 
ious and  angry  tears  of  her  niece — but  within  the 
next  day  or  two,  extended  her  wanderings. 

Merrilie  knew  there  could  be  but  one  issue. 
Either  she  must  resign  herself  to  bedlam,  or  do 
what  she  had  resolved  not  to  do — take  her  aunt 
back  to  New  York.  This,  to  secure  peace,  she 
reluctantly  did. 

She  reached  New  York  without  being  detected 
even  by  the  alert,  and  the  town,  as  she  hoped,  was 
pretty  well  deserted.  Aunt  Jane,  restored  to  her 
familiar  haunts,  subsided  and  contented  herself 

216 


Merrilie  Dawes 

with  making  the  servants  confidants  of  her  griev- 
ances; and  Merrilie  was  left  for  matter  of  interest 
in  life  to  her  own  devices.  She  ascertained  gradu- 
ally where  her  various  friends  were  scattered — 
some  were  in  New  England,  some  at  sea,  some  in 
Europe.  The  Hamersleys  were  at  Crossrips;  An- 
nie and  her  mother  were  away  with  the  Havenses. 

Nor  had  Merrilie  much  wish  to  see  any  of  her 
friends.  She  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  isolation. 
It  was  as  if  a  vague  something  kept  her,  in  interest, 
apart  from  her  circle.  Deprived,  then,  of  her  or- 
dinary sources  of  information  and  with  the  hours 
dragging,  Merrilie  fell  to  the  newspapers.  These, 
in  turn,  brought  her  mind  more  consciously  back 
to  Adrane,  who  always  lingered  within  the  penum- 
bra of  her  daily  thoughts. 

"Steel"  news,  "steel"  gossip,  and  "steel"  ru- 
mors filled  the  less  urgent  columns  of  the  vari- 
ous journals,  and  Adrane  and  his  associates,  who 
included  some  of  the  best-known  down-town 
names,  shared,  with  the  passing  criminal  and  the 
social  wreckage  of  the  day,  the  attentions  of  the 
tireless  press. 

Merrilie  read  every  line  about  Adrane,  no  mat- 
ter how  absurd  or  far-fetched  she  knew  its  sub- 
stance to  be,  with  avidity.  She  turned  him  over 
critically  in  her  mind  and  diverted  herself  with 
forming  and  re-forming  estimates  of  his  charac- 

217 


Merrilie  Dawes 

teristics  and  capabilities  that  differed  widely  from 
those  she  saw  offered  in  the  prints.  Her  interest 
in  him  was  different  in  kind,  rather  than  in  degree, 
from  any  she  had  ever  felt  for  other  men.  She 
was  alive  to  his  weaknesses  and  his  peculiarities, 
but  she  felt  a  confidence  that  these  were  negligible 
or  correctable  and  that  to  her,  at  least,  John 
Adrane  was  amenable;  that  she  could,  and  did, 
despite  his  reputed  stubbornness,  influence  him. 

Merrilie,  indeed,  was  not  conscious  of  any  no- 
ticeable stubbornness  in  Adrane.  She  never  felt 
it,  and  every  estimate  she  read  of  his  reputed  char- 
acteristics she  rewrote  to  accord  with  what  she 
confidently  knew  to  be  right.  She  felt  more 
vividly  than  she  had  ever  felt  anything,  it  seemed, 
in  her  life,  that  she  understood,  to  the  tips  of  his 
fingers,  John  Adrane.  He  was  becoming  to  her 
something  like  a  problem  that  others  professed  to 
be  unable  to  comprehend  and  that  she  burned  to 
solve.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  tell  herself  he 
was  the  only  man  she  had  ever  met  whom  she 
might  have  loved;  not  reckoning  that  she  already 
loved  him,  and  realizing  all  only  when  too  late. 

Business  of  her  own  afforded  Merrilie  occupa- 
tion for  a  time  after  her  return.  The  unlooked-for 
redemption  of  an  issue  of  bonds  of  which  the  es- 
tate had  been  a  large  holder,  a  slackening  of  gen- 
eral business  together  with  a  lull  in  the  street  de- 

218 


Merrilie  Dawes 

mand  for  call  funds,  left  her  with  unusually  large 
cash  balances  in  bank,  and  made  the  consideration 
of  new  investments  necessary.  David  Spruance 
was  called  in  from  Sea  Ridge  to  discuss  the  situ- 
ation and,  in  the  belief  that  money  would  be  in 
better  demand  later,  he  advised  a  waiting  policy. 

Spruance  brought  the  passing  news  of  the  down- 
town district  and  Merrilie  heard  Adrane  Brothers 
named  among  the  active  operators  in  an  otherwise 
featureless  market.  His  gossip  threw  new  light 
on  the  burden  of  the  newspaper  talk  about  the 
two  Adrane  brothers  and  their  strong  connections. 
After  her  illumining  talk  with  Spruance,  Merrilie 
followed  the  market  comment  with  more  under- 
standing and,  insensibly,  with  fresh  interest  in  the 
securities  the  Adranes  were  exploiting. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  a  thought  one  day  came 
to  her  as  a  question:  Why  not  own  some  Adrane 
Steel  shares  herself?  It  was  hardly  more  at  first 
than  a  pleasurable  satisfaction  in  being  easily  able 
to  become  a  part  owner  in  his  pet  properties.  The 
thought  of  profit  did  not  appeal  to  Merrilie;  it  was 
more  in  the  spirit  of  adventure  and  as  a  means  of 
interesting  herself  in  something  that  she  allowed 
the  suggestion  to  lodge  in  her  mind — and  she  felt 
keenly  that  she  needed  the  diversion  of  new  inter- 
est of  some  sort  in  life.  One  in  common  with 
Adrane  seemed  in  itself  stimulating. 

219 


Merrilie  Dawes 

The  more  Merrilie  considered  such  a  step,  the 
more  it  pleased  her.  To  be  at  one  with  him — 
and,  of  course,  secretly  so — in  his  greatest  under- 
taking gave  her  more  zest  in  awakening  to  the 
day  than  she  had  felt  since  she  saw  him  standing 
before  her  in  her  reception-room,  silent  and  with- 
out apology,  in  Paris. 

Meditating  as  to  whom  she  should  act  through 
and  referring,  as  in  everything,  back  to  her  father's 
ways  of  doing,  Merrilie  recollected  a  stock-broker 
whom  he  had  employed  in  buying  and  selling, 
Henry  Benjamin,  who  had  the  previous  winter 
sought  her  in  Paris,  and  whose  particularly  bright 
and  spectacled  eyes  she  well  remembered.  She 
directed  Tilden  to  ask  Mr.  Benjamin  to  come  to 
see  her.  The  very  same  day  the  broker,  who  was 
promptitude  itself,  called  on  Merrilie.  His  eyes 
were  as  bright  as  they  were  the  day  she  had  been 
so  brusque  with  him  the  winter  before.  "I  was 
extremely  sorry  I  offended  you  last  winter  by 
asking  you  to  set  a  price  on  your  beautiful  home," 
said  Benjamin  regretfully.  "I  did  it  at  the  urgent 
request  of  a  very  dear  friend  and  a  man  just  about 
as  set  as  your  own  father.  Nothing  would  do  but 
he  must  have  it,  and  I  must  try  to  get  it  for  him. 
I'm  sure  you  understand  my  position." 

Merrilie  received  his  apologies  more  graciously 
than  he  had  hoped.  "Father  would  turn  over  in 

220 


Merrilie  Dawes 

his  grave  if  I  were  to  dream  of  selling  this,  Mr. 
Benjamin,"  she  smiled  relentingly.  Then  for  some 
moments  he  would  talk  of  nothing  but  her  father. 

"I  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Benjamin,"  interposed 
Merrilie,  frankly,  at  length,  "because  my  father 
trusted  you." 

Benjamin's  eyes  opened  seriously  and  wide. 
Like  the  down-town  men,  always  active,  he  sat 
forward  in  his  chair  and  spoke  with  briskness. 
"Miss  Dawes,  your  father  was  the  greatest  man  I 
ever  knew." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Benjamin." 

"I  say  it,  not  because  you  are  his  daughter;  I 
say  it  almost  whenever  his  name  still  comes  up. 
And  I  can  add  also  this,"  he  continued,  with  an 
emphasizing  finger,  "he  was  too  big  for  me — I 
am  candid — I  was  afraid  of  him.  He  was  so  big, 
Miss  Dawes,  he  continually  frightened  me.  That 
is  the  truth.  If  I  had  done  what  he  told  me,  I 
should  have  been  a  many-times  millionaire." 

"You  are  that  anyway,  Mr.  Benjamin." 

"If  I  were,  I  shouldn't  be  in  Wall  Street,  I  can 
tell  you  that." 

"We  all  think  we  shouldn't  do  what  we  are 
doing  if  we  didn't  have  to,  but  we  should  just  the 
same,"  insisted  Merrilie  pleasantly.  "Mr.  Ben- 
jamin," she  added  incidentally,  "tell  me  about 
Adrane  Brothers." 

221 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Fine  young  men,  both  of  them.  John  is  the 
giant." 

"What  about  their  steel  properties?" 

"They  are  of  the  very  best  in  the  country." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  properties 
personally?" 

"I  do  not,  but  I  know  of  them  through  half-a- 
dozen  sources  that  are  unimpeachable.  Your 
bank  knows  all  about  it,"  added  Benjamin  sud- 
denly. "Mr.  Havens,  your  president,  is  a  great 
friend  of  the  Adranes  and  their  undertakings.  He 
headed  a  party  of  financiers  less  than  three  months 
ago  who  inspected  all  the  Adrane  properties. 
Havens  is  enthusiastic." 

Merrilie  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "That  is  the 
worst  thing  I  have  heard  against  the  undertaking," 
she  half  laughed. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  assented  Benjamin 
promptly.  "I  shouldn't  want  Havens  enthusi- 
astic for  me.  Bu  '  h",  "i  turn,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  "Mr.  rane  naturally  wants  every- 
body friendly." 

"What  I  want  to  ask  you  about,"  continued 
Merrilie,  "is  buying  some  of  the  stock." 

"Don't  do  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"No;  excuse  me,  that  isn't  the  first  question. 
The  first  question  is:  Why?" 

222 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Because  I  want  to.  I  have  answered  your 
question,  now  answer  mine." 

"Because  it  is  highly  speculative,  just  at  pres- 
ent; because  it  will  be  subject  to  violent  fluctua- 
tions, and,  most  of  all,  because  you  don't  have 
to." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  speculate  in  it " 

"Then  let  it  alone.  That  would  be  your  only 
legitimate  reason  for  buying  it." 

"I  mean  merely  to  buy  a  few  thousand  shares 
outright." 

Benjamin  again  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  don't 
see  the  why  of  it,  Miss  Dawes." 

"Will  you  content  yourself  then  with  executing 
my  order— 

The  broker  bowed  instant  acquiescence.  "That 
is  quite  another  thing.  Tell  me  what  you  wish." 

Merrilie  shifted  the  rings  on  he  fingers  of  her 
right  hand  with  her  thum'<  ittt'is  ;  the  first  place,  I 
don't  wish  to  be  know  vestment." 

"That  can  be  taker 

((  -\7  3  »  '        L.i«     . 

You  are  surer 
"Don't  give  it  a  thoug 

"Then  suppose  we  say — really  I  don't  know 
what  to  say — ten  thousand  shares?  What  is  it 
selling  at?" 

"Ninety,  Miss  Dawes." 

"Well,  let  us  say,  ten  thousand.     And  I  want 
223 


Merrilie  Dawes 

you  to  use  your  own  judgment  in  picking  the  stock 
up.  You  understand  you  are  to  carry  the  certifi- 
cates and  keep  me  strictly  out  of  it?" 

"I  understand." 

"And  do  the  best  you  can  at  the  market — it  is 
an  open  order." 

"That  is,  it  stands  while  I  am  picking  the  block 
up  and  until  you  withdraw  it?" 

"Precisely.  Tilden  will  forward  your  cheques 
as  fast  as  you  advise  me  you've  bought." 

"Ten  thousand  shares — at  the  market."  Ben- 
jamin rose.  "Miss  Dawes,  thank  you."  Then 
his  bright  eyes  fixed  upon  her  keenly.  "Do  you 
know  what  your  father  once  said  to  me?" 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"That  you  ought  to  have  been  a  man." 

Merrilie  smiled.  "I  am  making  a  wretched  fail- 
ure of  things  as  a  woman." 

Looking  back,  afterward,  Merrilie  asked  herself 
whether  her  very  discontent  was  not  what  led  her 
into  buying  something  she  did  not  want  and  had 
no  use  for.  The  underlying  cause  of  the  discon- 
tent itself  she  did  not,  even  afterward,  examine 
into.  All  that  she  felt  when  she  gave  Henry  Ben- 
jamin her  first  order  that  afternoon  was  a  rest- 
less resolve  to  have  some  part  in  the  affair  of  the 
day.  And  the  affair  of  the  day  happened  to  be 
Adrane  Steel. 

224 


Merrilie  Dawes 

She  found  her  venture  quite  as  interesting  as 
she  hoped — something  to  occupy  her  thoughts,  to 
occasion  inquiry,  apprehension,  to  bring  her  into 
touch  with  that  which  engaged  other  people.  And 
with  Adrane  leading,  had  not  Merrilie  more  reason 
than  countless  others  for  embarking  at  this  par- 
ticular moment  in  it? 

She  at  least  felt  this;  felt  abundantly  justified 
in  "going  into  Steel."  She  had  never  been  so  cut 
off  in  her  own  life,  never  more  alone.  Whether 
she  mingled  with  people  or  avoided  them,  she 
realized  the  same  sense  of  loneliness.  Estranged 
now  from  the  Whitneys,  she  missed  them;  yet  she 
did  not  wish  them  back.  People  appeared  or  dis- 
appeared from  her  view  and  it  was  all  one  to  Mer- 
rilie. Acquaintances,  to  her,  were  no  more  than 
acquaintances.  She  was  sceptical  of  the  existence 
of  friends  and  real  friendships — she  had,  in  any 
event,  never  known  either. 

"It  is  only  the  loose  use  of  words  that  leads  peo- 
ple to  talk  about  *  friends.'  Neither  they  them- 
selves nor  their  fancied  friends  really  care  for  one 
another,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Hamersley,  after  the 
latter,  coming  to  town  for  a  few  days  with  Amos, 
had  discovered  her  presence  in  New  York  and 
made  Merrilie  come  to  see  her. 

"Well,  Merrilie,"  protested  Mrs.  Hamersley 
lazily,  "I  do  believe  in  friends.  And  I  don't  think 

225 


Merrilie  Dawes 

you  do  right  to  hide  yourself.  And  there  is  an- 
other thing:  I  was  brought  up  a  Christian, 
Merrilie." 

Merrilie  raised  her  eyes  with  contained  irony. 
"Really?" 

"And  one  of  the  mottoes  that  I  wrote  many 
times  to  perfect  my  flowing  hand  was:  'Satan 
finds  some  mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to  do.'  I 
think  it  is  from  the  Bible.  I  am  not  sure." 

"And  if  you  are  not,  how  can  you  expect  me  to 
be?" 

"No  matter  what  it's  from " 

"Nor  whether  it's  a  motto  at  all,"  interrupted 
Merrilie. 

"I  quote  it  for  you,  my  dear,  because  if  you 
don't  keep  something  going,  you'll  get  into  mis- 
chief. From  all  I  continue  to  hear,"  drawled  Mrs. 
Hamersley,  "you've  given  John  Adrane's  head  a 
very  serious  twist  already." 

A  few  weeks  earlier,  Merrilie  would  have  hotly 
resented  such  an  accusation.  Now,  with  a  laugh, 
she  fell  back  into  her  habitual  indifference.  She 
resisted  Mrs.  Hamersley's  urging  to  run  up  to 
Crossrips  with  her  and  went  home  to  find  out 
how  many  more  Steel  shares  she  was  owner  of 
than  she  had  been  in  the  morning.  The  invest- 
ment gave  her  more  real  satisfaction  than  any- 
thing for  years.  "And  if  this  is  mischief,"  mur- 

226 


Merrilie  Dawes 

mured  Merrilie  to  herself,  "let  them  make  the 
most  of  it." 

She  consulted  often  with  Tilden — transferred  a 
large  balance  from  her  own  bank  to  the  Ham- 
ersley  bank — drew  her  cheque  herself  and  watched 
her  holdings  in  Steel  grow  from  day  to  day  with 
extraordinary  satisfaction.  The  rise  and  fall  of 
the  market  supplied  a  daily  interest.  As  her 
order  approached  completion,  Merrilie  was  ready 
for  more.  She  laughed  to  think  of  what  she  should 
do  with  it  all.  And  at  how  she  should,  perhaps 
some  day,  compare  notes  with  Adrane  concerning 
her  secret  trading  in  his  specialty. 

When  Henry  Benjamin  reported  her  first  order 
executed,  Merrilie  gave  him  a  second  and  larger 
order,  and  before  the  second  was  completed  she 
surprised  him  with  a  third  still  larger.  The  mar- 
ket felt  the  stimulus  of  her  buying  and  responded. 
Much  other  Steel  business  came  to  Henry  Benja- 
min, and  as  a  result  of  his  aggressive  buying  he 
became  known  as  one  of  the  group  of  "Steel" 
houses.  Traders  sought  his  advice.  And  as  Ben- 
jamin consistently  advised  his  customers  not  to 
buy  Adrane  Steel,  buying  orders  poured  in  on  him. 

Adrane  and  his  associates  frankly  counselled 
every  one  to  buy.  They  made  open  efforts  to  en- 
list the  co-operation  of  each  prominent  street  in- 
terest and  met  with  a  good  measure  of  success. 
One  cloud  only  rose  on  the  horizon  of  their  ven- 

227 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ture — money  began  to  tighten.  No  one  could  say 
precisely  why.  Benjamin,  who  in  executing  her 
orders  now  supplied  Merrilie  with  her  best  infor- 
mation, and  who  was  temperamentally  suspicious, 
agreed  with  Hamersley  that  the  causes  lay  wholly 
outside  market  operations;  but  by  late  summer 
money  had  become  very  tight. 

The  circumstance  was  not  allowed  to  interfere 
with  Adrane's  campaign.  On  the  twentieth  of 
August  Adrane  Steel,  as  the  stock  was  popularly 
known,  touched  a  hundred  and  eighty  and  all  the 
way  up  on  the  rise  large  blocks  of  it  were  taken. 
A  lull  in  the  demand  for  the  shares  was  followed 
by  a  reaction,  then  the  market  was  again  strongly 
supported  and  the  shorts  were  punished. 

The  weather  was  hot.  Merrilie  periodically 
made  arrangements  to  leave  town  and  periodically 
changed  them.  Every  day  she  became  more  ab- 
sorbed in  her  new  investment;  at  times  apprehen- 
sive of,  at  times  jubilant  over,  her  venture — really 
the  first  she  had  ever  undertaken.  Her  substantial 
gains  alone  would  not  have  accounted  for  her 
enthusiasm.  Something  deeper  than  mere  ac- 
quisitiveness raised  her  spirits,  and  she  realized 
this  without  wishing  to  question  precisely  what  it 
was.  In  looking  ahead  for  a  year  she  found  no 
pleasure;  but  in  looking  ahead  for  a  day,  much. 
For  the  present  she  was,  she  knew,  almost  Adrane's 
unknown  partner  in  his  ambitious  undertaking. 

228 


Merrilie  Dawes 

The  secrecy  of  her  co-operation  was  assured;  yet 
the  very  danger  of  detection  was  stimulating, 
sometimes  exciting,  as  her  account  grew  and  grew, 
and  the  speculation  in  the  stock  became  almost 
country-wide. 

Meantime  the  market  itself  had  developed  acute 
sensitiveness.  Merrilie  opened  her  newspaper  one 
evening  to  find  a  break  in  steel  shares  recorded  in  a 
first-page  column  with  highly  colored  comments  on 
what  might  be  expected  in  the  street  the  following 
day.  Early  next  morning  she  placed  herself  at  the 
telephone  and  found  herself  chained  to  it  for  two 
hours. 

It  was  Saturday  and  a  short  day.  But  what 
the  day  lacked  in  length  it  made  up  in  intensity. 
With  the  opening,  large  holdings  of  Steel  had  been 
pressed  for  sale.  So  heavy  and  insistent  were  the 
offerings  that  for  the  first  hour  an  incipient  panic 
reigned.  Sales  were  made  in  the  same  moment  at 
variations  of  a  full  point.  Five  and  ten  thousand 
share  blocks  were  thrown  on  the  market.  As  the 
price  went  down  each  sharp  break  uncovered  a 
flood  of  stop-loss  orders  which  could  hardly  be 
executed.  By  eleven  o'clock  Steel  had  gone  off 
more  than  twenty  points,  brokers  were  fighting 
with  telegrams  and  telephones  for  margins,  trading 
on  the  floor  outside  the  Steel  post  was  almost 
neglected,  messengers  raced  up  and  down  the 

229 


Merrilie  Dawes 

street,  crowds  of  traders  choked  the  brokers' 
offices  and  hung  about  the  tickers,  collateral  clerks 
checked  accounts  feverishly,  banks  began  calling 
loans,  and  the  street  seethed  with  excitement. 

Then  men  began  running  from  the  Steel  post 
with  faces  less  drawn.  A  new  babel  and  another 
roar  of  voices  rose  from  the  circle  of  fighting 
traders.  Adrane's  brokers,  with  fresh  energy,  were 
bidding  up  the  market.  Widely  distributed  buy- 
ing orders  placed  by  Benjamin  &  Company 
began  to  absorb  Steel  offerings.  Up  ran  the  quo- 
tations till  Benjamin,  fearful  of  overdoing  the 
advance,  began  selling  in  moderation  to  supply 
shorts.  The  market  closed  firm  within  a  few  points 
of  the  opening.  But  harm  had  been  done  Steel. 
That  afternoon  extra  clerks  filled  every  office  of  the 
so-called  Steel  houses  in  the  street.  It  was  hours 
before  even  Benjamin  &  Company  knew  just 
where  they  stood.  At  five  o'clock  Henry  Benja- 
min himself  drove  up-town  in  a  closed  car  to  report 
to  his  particular  client  whose  voice,  directing  the 
continued  buying  over  the  telephone,  had  shown 
no  tremor  of  apprehension.  The  broker  sub- 
mitted his  sheet  to  her. 

"Tell  me  briefly,  Mr.  Benjamin,  just  what  it 
means?"  said  Merrilie,  looking  undisturbedly  at 
him. 

230 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Briefly,  Miss  Dawes,"  retorted  Benjamin  with 
much  distinctness,  "it  means  that  Monday  morn- 
ing at  eleven  o'clock  we  must  have  a  lot  of  cash." 

"How  much?" 

He  named  a  sum  in  millions. 


231 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MERRILIE   lifted   her   brows   protestingly : 
"That's  a  lot  of  money,  Mr.  Benjamin." 

"Would  you  let  me  make  one  suggestion?"  re- 
turned Benjamin,  wiping  a  brow  on  which  the 
anxieties  of  the  heated  day  were  plainly  reflected. 

"What  is  it?" 

"To  drop  this  business  right  where  you  are." 
He  spoke  with  an  emphasis  of  manner  that  ex- 
pressed more  than  his  words. 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion,"  answered  Mer- 
rilie  evenly.  "I  am  glad  always  to  have  your  own 
view.  Of  course  you  are  keeping  my  identity 
rigidly  out  of  everything,  Mr.  Benjamin?" 

"Positively  and  completely.  But  7  should  stop 
right  where  we  are." 

Merrilie  lifted  her  shoulders  very  slightly.  "  I 
am  interested  in  this,  Mr.  Benjamin.  And  I 
don't  often  get  interested  in  things.  You  know 
some  of  my  mother's  people — the  Whitneys — are 
close  to  Mr.  Adrane.  We  should  all,  naturally, 
like  to  see  him  do  well.  I  shall  want  you  perhaps 

to  sell  some  bonds  Monday " 

232 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Benjamin  made  an  immediate  and  sweeping 
gesture:  "And  then,  away  goes  the  bond  market!" 

"Why,  surely,  a  few  millions  won't  affect  the 
bond  market."  Benjamin  looked  serious.  "Have 
you  any  idea  how  scarce  money  is?" 

Merrilie  moved  restively.  "Don't  let  us  mag- 
nify our  difficulties.  The  thing  is  very  simple:  I 
want  the  money;  you  will  find  plenty  of  people 
that  want  the  bonds  at  a  price." 

"Certainly.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  I  want 
your  business,"  he  exclaimed  with  the  utmost 
emphasis.  "What  I  am  saying  is  wholly  in  your 
interests." 

"I    understand,    Mr.    Benjamin.      And    with 

Mr.   Tilden   I  will  meet  you  Monday  morning 
,,*. " 

a.\. 

"Ten  o'clock?" 

"That  is  awfully  early." 

"I  should  say  nine,"  objected  the  broker 
gravely,  "if  it  weren't  earlier." 

"Ten  o'clock  then,  at  the  Atlantic  Trust  Com- 
pany vaults." 

Benjamin  continued  to  regard  her  as  if  she  had 
forgotten  something:  "What  about  Monday's 
Steel  market?" 

"Don't  let  it  break  too  far.  How  many  shares 
have  we?" 

"Over  a  hundred  thousand." 
233 


Merrilie  Dawes 

If  he  meant  the  information  to  intimidate  her, 
it  failed  of  effect. 

"It  isn't  on  our  shoulders,  of  course,  to  support 
Mr.  Adrane's  operations,"  she  remarked  inno- 
cently. "  But  as  a  considerable  holder  I  intend 
to  protect  my  own  interests  in  the  property." 

Tilden  was  too  experienced  to  ask  questions  as 
they  drove  home  from  the  trust  company  bank 
after  meeting  Benjamin  on  Monday  morning,  but 
Merrilie  felt  him  entitled  to  some  sort  of  an  expla- 
nation for  selling  so  many  bonds.  She  made  it  as 
brief  as  possible.  She  was,  she  told  him,  buying 
Steel. 

Tilden  smiled  feebly.  "Like  everybody  else," 
he  observed  uneasily.  And  Merrilie  invited  no 
further  comment. 

Monday's  market  threatened  no  repetition  of 
Saturday's  turmoil.  It  was  supported  from  the 
start  and  at  night  Merrilie  felt  reassured.  But 
she  was  resolved  not  to  be  caught  again  unawares, 
and  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  liquidating  in  such 
a  market  she  began  on  Tuesday  selling  standard 
railway  shares.  Nearly  the  whole  day  went  to  the 
signing  of  certificates  and  to  the  relentless  selling 
of  so  many  thousand  shares  she  dared  not  reckon 
the  aggregate.  The  persistent  and  unyielding  liqui- 
dation demoralized  the  already  suffering  market, 
and  the  result  was  disastrous  to  the  whole  list. 

234 


Merrilie  Dawes 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  though  at  the  cost  of 
an  enormous  sacrifice,  Merrilie's  strong-box  was 
filled  again.  Curiously  enough,  in  the  severe  pres- 
sure of  her  selling,  Adrane's  Steel  suffered  very 
little.  There  were,  it  is  true,  steady  offerings  of 
Steel  and  when  they  became  too  heavy  the  price 
did  recede.  But  the  retreats  were  orderly  and 
after  them  the  Adrane  brokers  always  succeeded  in 
lifting  the  quotations  back  to  where  they  insisted 
they  belonged.  The  money  scarcity  did  not  lessen; 
but  it  did  not  frighten  the  bulls,  who  held  that  in 
Steel  they  had  something  better  than  money. 

After  the  more  hopeful  day,  and  when  Ad- 
rane's friends  had  begun  to  take  heart,  Wednes- 
day brought  a  disagreeable  surprise.  Weakness  in 
Steel  was  apparent  at  the  opening  of  the  market 
and  the  whole  list  gave  so  seriously  that  every  one 
was  disturbed.  A  general  calling  of  loans  added 
to  the  confusion.  Steel  sunk  almost  like  a  plum- 
met until  the  closing  hour,  when  Benjamin  &  Com- 
pany began  buying.  In  the  last  thirty  minutes 
they  were  compelled  to  take  forty  thousand  shares 
above  their  sales.  Scare-heads  filled  the  first 
pages  of  the  evening  papers.  Henry  Benjamin 
himself  sought  John  Adrane  in  person  and  de- 
manded in  angry  terms  to  know  who  was  dumping 
on  him  all  the  Steel  in  the  United  States  as  well  as 
part  of  what  was  in  Cuba  and  Mount  Vesuvius. 

235 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"What  did  you  find  out?"  asked  Merrilie,  when 
her  broker  came  to  report  to  her  at  five  o'clock. 

"What  did  I  find  out?  Nothing.  It  isn't 
Adrane  that's  doing  it.  It's  none  of  his  crowd. 
But  who  is  it?  Somebody  was  selling  that  stuff 
to-day  like  soft  strawberries." 

Merrilie  made  inquiries  and  Benjamin  answered. 
He  countered  with  only  one  question:  "Why  did 
you  give  me  such  an  order — to  hold  the  market  to 
a  hundred  and  fifty  ?''  he  demanded. 

"People  that  have  sold  what  they  haven't  got, 
deserve  to  be  punished  and  I  hope  they  will  be," 
returned  Merrilie. 

Benjamin  waved  his  hand  with  impatience. 

"How  much  money  do  you  want!1"  she  asked 
with  a  touch  of  defiance.  He  called  for  a  stagger- 
ing sum,  but  he  could  not  see  that  she  blanched. 
She  only  asked  another  question:  "How  much  for 
to-morrow  ? " 

"To-morrow!  Who  can  tell  how  much  to-mor- 
row? Somebody  is  after  that  man " 

"Whatman?" 

"John  Adrane." 

"Make  an  estimate  so  one  trip  will  do.  How 
much  money  altogether?" 

He  waved  his  hand  uneasily.  "Ten  millions  a 
day  would  be  little  enough."  Benjamin  shook  his. 
head  as  he  spoke.  "I  don't  like  it." 

236 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"If  it's  a  fight  I  shall  stay  in  it,  Mr.  Benjamin. 
If  you  feel  unsafe " 

"Unsafe?  With  you?  N'ot  for  one  minute. 
Get  that  completely  out  of  your  head." 

The  next  day  more  of  Merrilie's  bonds  were 
poured  upon  the  market  to  strengthen  her  re- 
serves. They  were  good  bonds — of  the  sort  that 
come  out  of  strong-boxes  only  when  money  hides. 
Appalling  shrinkages  developed  in  the  prices,  but 
Benjamin  sold  inexorably. 

Stocks  under  fresh  pressure  at  the  same  time 
from  the  bears  wavered  and  staggered  like  stricken 
men.  Steel  began  coming  out,  not  now  in  big 
blocks  nor  bearing  the  earmarks  of  aggressive  sell- 
ing, but  in  steady  and  persistent  offerings  that 
called  for  continual  watchfulness  and  entailed  con- 
stant anxiety  on  the  Adrane  following.  The  house 
of  Benjamin  was  made  a  target  of  attack  for 
information  and  enlightenment,  but  the  princi- 
pals were  dumb.  The  Benjamins  were  said  to 
be  Adrane's  brokers,  Rothschild's  brokers,  Am- 
sterdam's brokers,  Frankfort's  brokers;  from 
themselves  nothing  of  assent  or  denial  was  forth- 
coming. 

On  Thursday  a  conference  of  bankers  was  held 
to  consider  the  condition  of  the  market.  Henry 
Benjamin  was  invited.  He  knew  why  he  was 
asked:  they  wanted  to  find  out  who  his  clients 

237 


Merrilie  Dawes 

were.  But  he  could  say  nothing  and  he  kept  away. 
Late  on  Thursday  afternoon  he  spent  an  hour  with 
Merrilie.  The  situation,  he  told  her,  was  grave. 

"Adrane  has  borrowed  money  everywhere," 
said  Benjamin  tersely.  "He  had  a  conference  this 
afternoon  with  Amos  Hamersley.  Hamersley  is 
in  this  pretty  deep,  himself." 

"Every  one  seems  to  be,"  assented  Merrilie. 

"But  if  they  can't  locate  this  selling  and  stop 
it,  it  will  stop  them.  And  stop  Steel  and  every- 
body behind  it.  That's  all." 

The  night  turned  warm  and  Merrilie  lay  a  long 
time  wakeful.  She  realized  for  the  first  time — and 
it  came  with  the  suddenness  of  a  shock — how 
heavily  she  was  involved.  She  rose  after  an  al- 
most sleepless  night,  and  even  Rose's  tempting 
bath  did  not  refresh  her.  Tilden  began  sending 
in  messages  early  asking  to  see  her.  Merrilie 
was  not  eager  to  see  Tilden.  The  reckoning  of 
the  day  before,  she  was  afraid  to  face.  It  had 
confronted  her  all  night  long  in  the  darkness,  and 
the  very  thought  of  a  reckoning  vaguely  dis- 
turbed her. 

When  she  finally  admitted  Tilden,  with  his  ac- 
counts, his  hollow  eyes  were  sunk  within  their 
sockets.  Merrilie,  who  seeming  to  see  nothing 
saw  everything,  started  inwardly  at  the  sight  of 
his  face;  it  appeared  to  symbolize  her  own  acute 

238 


Merrilie  Dawes 

misgivings  of  her  foolish  conduct.  Tilden  spoke 
in  an  empty  voice:  "I've  been  working  all  night 
on  the  books." 

Merrilie  met  the  implication  with  reserve. 
"These  are  troublesome  times,  Tilden.  Every- 
body is  upset,  I  fancy.  Well?" 

"In  this  Steel  speculation  you  have  gone  a  long 
way  beyond  the  limit  of  safety." 

"I'm  afraid  I  have,  Tilden.  But  it  is  an  invest- 
ment, not  a  speculation.  How  is  the  cash  ac- 
count ? " 

"Bare." 

"Again?" 

"Your  millions  are  going  like  the  wind." 

"How  is  the  bond  account?" 

"Bare." 

Merrilie  swallowed:   "What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  have  no  bonds  left." 

"Not  any  bonds?" 

"No  salable  bonds.  No  bonds  at  all  but  those 
East  Shore  fours." 

Merrilie  looked  thoughtful.  While  Tilden  re- 
garded her  doubtfully,  she  took  the  telephone  and 
called  up  Benjamin.  Her  talk  with  him  was  not 
encouraging,  but  when  she  put  down  the  receiver 
she  turned  to  Tilden  and  met  his  eyes  without 
change  of  expression.  "He  says  they  will  bring 
about  sixty.  And  they  are  first-mortgage  fours! 

239 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Great  Heavens!  Well,  beggars  cannot  be  choosers. 
We  need  money.  I  wish  Mr.  Adrane  had  left 
our  railroad  peacefully  alone  on  our  side  of  the 
river." 

"I  wish  to  God  we  had  never  seen  or  heard  of 
the  man,"  exclaimed  Tilden  fervently. 

Merrilie  raised  her  brows,  pouted,  and,  with 
what  seemed  annoying  indifference,  tossed  her 
head  and  laughed.  Tilden  scowled.  He  couldn't 
understand.  It  was  too  much  like  pleasantry 
over  a  powder  magazine.  The  telephone  rang. 
Benjamin  was  calling  Merrilie.  He  told  her  it 
was  reported  in  the  Street  that  Havens,  at  the 
Atlantic  National,  had  thrown  out  Adrane  Steel 
as  collateral. 

Merrilie  caught  her  breath.  She  made  a  few 
rapid  inquiries  over  the  wire.  Benjamin  noticed 
how  cutting  her  tones  and  how  keenly  direct  her 
questions  were.  She  told  him  she  should  see  to 
this  at  once,  gave  him  orders  to  sell  the  entire 
block  of  East  Shore  fours  at  the  market,  and  asked 
about  stocks.  They  were  weak,  Benjamin  re- 
ported, with  Steel  leading  the  decline  and  getting 
very  poor  support.  "They've  got  Adrane  on  the 
run,"  he  explained  bluntly.  "We  are  doing  most 
of  the  buying.  If  the  rest  of  the  banks  follow 
Havens  and  refuse  Steel " 

Merrilie  shut  off.  She  excused  herself,  rang, 
240 


Merrilie  Dawes 

dressed  hurriedly,  and  with  Tilden  drove  down- 
town to  the  Atlantic  National. 

It  was  not  until  she  found  herself  actually  walk- 
ing up  the  old-fashioned  stone  steps  of  the  bank 
in  Pine  Street  that  she  remembered  she  had  not 
been  inside  it  since  the  death  of  her  father.  The 
interior  arrangements  completely  changed,  the 
apartments  enlarged,  made  over,  and  renovated, 
dismayed  her  at  first.  In  appointment  every- 
thing seemed  much  more  elaborate  than  she 
remembered  in  her  father's  day.  The  thought 
swept  over  her,  as  a  reproach,  that  she  had  neg- 
lected to  keep  in  touch  with  her  own  interests  in 
the  bank  as  she  ought  to  have  done,  and  that, 
had  she  been  less  indifferent,  she  might  easily  have 
prevented  this  serious  blow  to  Adrane.  Tilden 
found  only  temporary  difficulty  in  arranging  for 
Merrilie  to  see  the  president,  and  it  revived  her 
confidence  a  little  to  perceive  that  her  name  still 
had  potency.  Havens  left  a  directors'  meeting  to 
receive  her  in  a  luxurious  anteroom. 

"I  hear  that  you  have  thrown  out  Adrane  Steel 
this  morning  as  collateral  on  loans,  Mr.  Havens?" 
said  Merrilie  rapidly,  cutting  short  Havens's  cor- 
dial pleasantries  upon  her  unexpected  appearance. 

Havens's  face  expressed  his  surprise.  "Are  you, 
too,  interested  in  Steel?"  he  asked  with  a  bland- 
ness  that  irritated  his  visitor. 

241 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Yes,"  responded  Merrilie  promptly  and  with 
emphasis  that  spoke  her  whole  mind  in  one  word. 
"Like  every  one  else,  I  suppose.  Why  have  you 
thrown  it  out?" 

"My  dear  Miss  Dawes!"  Havens  smiled  very 
considerately,  but  back  of  his  lively  manner  Mer- 
rilie could  see  he  was  clearly  disturbed.  "That 
is  a  long  and  rather  an  involved  question  to 
answer." 

"It  ought  not  to  be.  There  is  no  good  reason 
for  such  a  course.  You  know  the  whole  situa- 
tion— "  Havens  made  no  attempt  to  express  his 
astonishment  in  words;  he  appeared  mute  with  it. 
"You  know  the  situation  of  Adrane  Brothers," 
Merrilie  went  on  hurriedly.  "You  know  as  well  as 
any  one  in  New  York  the  intrinsic  value  of  their 
properties,  the  efforts  being  made  by  speculators 
to  crush  the  firm,  the  stringency  of  the  money 
market,  the  vast  amount  of  their  stock  held  in  this 
town  as  collateral,  the  panicky  condition  of  the 
whole  country  at  this  moment " 

The  words  would  hardly  come  fast  enough,  yet 
Merrilie  couldn't  have  told  where  they  came  from 
or  how  she  knew  what  to  say.  She  was  con- 
scious only  of  the  blaze  in  her  eyes  and  the  an- 
ger she  felt  at  this  stabbing  of  Adrane  by  her 
own  bank.  "Is  it  good  banking,"  she  demanded 
curtly,  "to  help  in  this  way  to  precipitate  a  panic? 

242 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Isn't  a  panic  about  the  worst  thing  for  banks  that 
can  happen?" 

"My  dear  Miss  Dawes,  you  are  speaking  of  a 
situation  of  which  you  have  only  the  most  super- 
ficial information.  In  a  moment  like  this  we  can't 
reckon  with  intrinsic  values.  Iron  ore,  furnaces, 
rolling-mills,  railroads  are  not  money.  Self- 
preservation— 

Merrilie  interrupted  sharply.  "Is  self-preserva- 
tion to  be  secured  by  showing  the  white  feather 
in  the  heat  of  a  fight — in  running  before  you  are 
beaten?" 

Each  chopped  heedlessly  in  on  the  other's 
words.  At  times  both  were  gesticulating  and 
speaking  at  once. 

"I  tell  you  you  don't  understand,"  stormed 
Havens. 

"I  tell  you  I  do  understand!"  Merrilie's  eyes 
burned  with  her  words.  "You  have  made  a  mis- 
take. It  should  be  corrected  at  once." 

"I  am  charged  with  the  safety  and  policy  of  this 
bank — 

"Don't  fear  I  shan't  remember  that  later  on, 
Mr.  Havens." 

"Do  not  threaten  me." 

"Do  not  try  to  intimidate  me.  I  know  per- 
fectly well  what  I  am  about,  and  as  one  at  interest 
in  this  bank  I  protest  against  your  action  in  this 
crisis." 

243 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"You  make  this  a  personal  matter.  It  is  ridic- 
ulous for  you  to  blame  me  so  severely.  The  loan 
committee  of  our  board  decide  our  policy  on 
loans " 

"Where  is  your  loan  committee?" 

"At  their  various  offices  of  business.  You 
would  not  expect  them  to  be  in  session  here  all  the 
time?" 

"In  a  crisis  like  this,  I  should  expect  them  to  be 
in  session  here  all  the  time.  Your  action  threat- 
ens the  interests  of  your  stockholders." 

Havens  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  "I  can 
think  of  but  one  explanation  for  your  extraordi- 
nary excitement,"  he  retorted  furiously.  "But  I 
venture  to  hope  you  have  not  been  speculating 
in  Steel." 

"I  am  an  investor,  not  a  speculator.  And  for 
protecting  my  interests  both  within  and  without 
this  bank  I  expect  to  hold  those  responsible  who 
ought  to  be  held  responsible.  If  you  have  influ- 
enced your  committee  you  will  be  held  responsi- 
ble for  that.  Your  conduct  at  this  time,  Mr. 
Havens,  in  view  of  all  the  facts,  is  simply  out- 
rageous!" 

She  was  up,  and  almost  out  of  the  room,  with  the 
last  word.  Fast  as  Havens  could  follow  and  pro- 
test, he  could  neither  overtake  Merrilie  nor  hold 
her  ear  to  his  words.  She  swept  along  the  pas- 
sageway to  the  private  offices  and  into  the  large 

244 


Merrilie  Dawes 

counting-room,  with  her  resolute  heels  ringing  on 
the  marble  floor  as  she  strode  toward  the  street 
entrance.  At  the  outer  door  of  the  bank  she  ran 
blindly  into  a  man,  entering,  who  was  lifting  his 
hat.  Merrilie  looked  up  and  saw  John  Adrane. 

She  started,  halted,  almost  gasped.  The  expres- 
sion of  her  face  changed  like  a  sky  in  a  thunder- 
storm. She  tried  to  laugh  as  her  eyes  met  his  and 
she  saw  in  his  face  the  lazy  smile  that  so  irritated 
his  enemies  and  had  begun  so  to  calm  Merrilie. 

"What  in  the  world?"  he  demanded  in  the  low- 
est possible  tone.  Then  anew:  "I  hadn't  the 
slightest  idea  you  were  in  New  York 

"Nor  had  I  you  were,"  fibbed  Merrilie  bravely. 

"I?"  He  could  not  restrain  the  surprised  echo. 
"I  have  to  be,"  he  said,  stepping  toward  a  recess 
beside  the  doorway.  Merrilie  did  not  mean  to  fol- 
low, but  her  feet  moved  against  her  will,  step  by 
step  with  his.  Then,  when  still  chatting,  the  two 
stopped  face  to  face,  her  resistance  relaxed  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  meeting.  It  was  gratifying  to  see 
and  hear  him. 

"So  do  I,"  she  was  replying  when  Adrane  de- 
clared he  had  to  be  in  New  York. 

"But  not  down-town,"  he  ventured. 

"Yes,  down-town,"  she  averred  hurriedly.  His 
look  rested  on  the  clear  pink,  high  in  her  cheeks 
— the  flush  of  her  Havens  interview — and  he  had 

245 


Merrilie  Dawes 

never  seen  such  an  expression  in  her  eyes.  "Look 
for  me,"  she  added  abruptly,  "everywhere  you 
don't  expect  me." 

"Good,"  he  said,  outwardly  unmoved.  "I'd 
rather  see  you,  any  time,  or  anywhere,  than  I 
would  a  million  dollars  and  I  never  needed  money 
so  bad  in  my  life,"  he  continued  half  jestingly. 

"Neither  did  I  ever  need  it  so  bad,"  returned 
Merrilie,  leaving  Adrane  to  think  she  imitated 
his  jest.  "And  if  you  have  come  here  for  it 
you've  come  to  a  bad  place." 

Adrane  made  a  droll  face:  "And  your  bank,  too! 
That's  rather  hard  from  the  owner,  I  must  say." 

"But  I  don't  manage  the  bank,"  retorted  Mer- 
rilie swiftly. 

He  looked  at  her  more  searchingly  and  with  a 
quite  different  expression :  "  Merrilie,  I  didn't  get 
a  chance  to  say  all  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  in 
Paris." 

"Surely,"  she  exclaimed,  almost  overcome  at  his 
assurance,  "you  don't  expect  to  say  it  here!"  She 
glanced,  as  she  spoke,  at  the  stream  of  men  and 
messengers  hurrying  in  and  out  of  the  doors,  some 
of  them  regarding  sharply  Adrane's  broad  back 
as  he  stood  turned  away  from  them. 

"May  I  come  to  see  you?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"No,  I  may  go  to  Crossrips  to-morrow."  She 
was  starting  for  the  door.  Adrane  couldn't  be 

246 


Merrilie  Dawes 

shaken  off.  "I'll  go  to  Crossrips  Sunday  if  you'll 
see  me,"  he  declared,  quickening  his  pace  out  to 
the  sidewalk  to  keep  up  with  her. 

Merrilie  stopped  in  a  little  pause.  "I  will  not 
see  you  there.  And  I  won't  speak  to  you  again  if 
you  follow  me."  A  servant  opened  the  door  of 
her  car. 

"See  me  to-night,"  pleaded  Adrane  as  she 
stepped  into  the  tonneau. 

"I  have  an  engagement.  Good-by.  Home, 
Reynolds." 

The  final  glimpse  she  had  of  him  was  as  he 
stood  with  lifted  hat  on  the  curb  smiling,  after  her 
rebuffs,  a  farewell,  and  with  not  a  trace  that  Mer- 
rilie could  see  of  anxiety  in  his  manner.  She  rode 
up-town  thoroughly  angry.  Her  own  anxieties 
almost  overwhelmed  her,  and  he  bore  his  without 
a  quiver.  She  remembered  of  a  sudden  that  she 
had  forgotten  poor  Tilden  at  the  bank  and  had  to 
go  back  and  send  into  the  bank  to  find  him. 

When  she  finally  got  home  she  felt  better  in 
spite  of  everything  and  some  confidence  returned. 
Within  her  own  big  walls  she  felt  in  some  way  so 
much  safer.  And  Adrane's  persistence,  however 
she  repelled  it,  was  at  the  least  satisfying — even 
though  she  could  do  nothing  for  him  without 
embroiling  herself  with  Annie.  Merrilie  disliked 
Annie  very  much,  of  that  she  was  certain.  She 

247 


Merrilie  Dawes 

had  ceased  blaming  herself  for  the  absurd  situation 
the  three  were  in  and  fearlessly  blamed  Annie. 
Annie  had  failed  to  hold  Adrane — how  could  she 
hold  him?  Merrilie  asked  herself  indignantly. 
Adrane — Merrilie's  pulses  stirred  with  the  thought 
— needed  a  woman  strong  enough  to — to — do 
what  with  him?  Merrilie  could  not  think  of  the 
right  word;  but  she  could  feel  it  to  the  very  tips 
of  her  fingers.  She  knew  perfectly  well  she  could 
hold  John  Adrane,  if  the  situation  were  reversed, 
not  only  against  Annie,  but  against  all  comers. 
Rose  came  in  to  say  it  was  lunch  time. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  sighed  Merrilie.  Then,  with  a 
little  weariness  as  the  light  in  her  eyes  lessened, 
"I  won't  go  down.  Have  something  served  up 
here." 


248 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SHE  could  eat  nothing  when  her  lunch  was 
brought.  Her  thoughts  of  Adrane's  affairs 
were  followed  by  the  recollection  of  her  en- 
counter with  Havens.  This  brought  only  the  dis- 
appointing memory  of  a  futile  effort.  Beyond 
getting  angry  she  had  accomplished  nothing,  and 
no  battle,  she  remembered,  could  be  won  in  such 
a  way.  There  was  now  ten  times  more  for  her  to 
do  to  save  herself — incomparably  less  to  do  it  with. 
It  was  money,  money;  money  she  must  have — 
how  could  she  get  it?  She  sat  half-buried  in  the 
corner  of  a  couch,  absorbed  in  thought,  when  she 
was  told  Mr.  Benjamin  was  on  the  telephone. 
Merrilie  dreaded  to  lift  the  receiver. 

"They    are    selling    Steel    again,"    Benjamin 
began. 

"Who?" 

"My  God!    Everybody.     We  must  have  some 
money." 

"When?" 

"This  afternoon." 

249 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  looked  vacantly  across  the  receiver  out 
of  the  window  as  she  answered.  "Mr.  Benjamin, 
can  you  borrow  some  on  my  bank  stock?" 

"In  ten  minutes." 

"Come  up  then  and  get  it." 

"I  can't  leave  here  now.     I  will  send  my  cash- 

5> 

ier. 

"I  shall  have  it  ready." 

She  felt  no  excitement  when  the  broker's  mes- 
senger asked  her,  a  few  moments  later,  to  sign  the 
dozen  odd  certificates.  She  did  not  even  look  at 
the  dates  they  bore,  and  took,  without  question- 
ing, the  memorandum  receipt  of  the  thousands  of 
shares  which  the  cashier  handed  back  to  her.  All 
she  could  recall  was  that  he  said  something  about 
eleven  or  twelve  million  dollars.  Benjamin  called 
her  again  on  the  telephone  toward  the  market 
close. 

"It's  behaving  better,"  he  answered  when  she 
asked  about  Steel.  "I've  got  money  on  some  of 
the  bank  stock.  We  are  safe,  I  guess." 

"For  how  long  do  you  think?" 

"For  to-night.  I  daren't  talk  here.  Will  you 
be  home  at  six  o'clock?" 

"Yes,  are  you  coming  up?" 

"I  am.     I  want  to  say  something  wireless." 

"Now  I  can't  tell  you  why  I  think  so,"  began 
Benjamin  the  instant  he  set  foot  in  Merrilie's 

250 


Merrilie  Dawes 

library  and  even  before  he  seated  himself.  "It 
may  be  I  am  all  wrong.  But  I  begin  to  suspect 
where  this  Steel  is  coming  from — who  is  selling 
it." 

Merrilie  regarded  him  in  stony  silence.  "He 
was  the  most  upset  man  in  Wall  Street  this  after- 
noon," continued  Benjamin,  "and  I  think  he  is 
heavily  short  on  Steel 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  who?" 

"Benedict  R.  Havens." 

Merrilie  found  herself  breathless.  Astonish- 
ment quite  stunned  her.  Then  rage  like  a  vise 
gripped  her  heart.  Her  face  turned  white.  "Jt's 
impossible,"  she  exclaimed. 

"It's  true,  before  Heaven,  I  believe,"  asserted 
Benjamin.  "It's  Havens  selling.  What  in  the 
name  of  God  the  man  is  doing,  what  he  means,  I 
don't  know.  But  he  is  selling." 

"Can  you  prove  it?"  demanded  Merrilie  fever- 
ishly. 

"No." 

If  he  had  said  "Yes"  the  word  would  have  car- 
ried less  conviction  to  his  listener.  "I  can't  prove 
it — not  now,"  snapped  Benjamin  doggedly,  "but" 
— with  his  clinched  fist  he  struck  the  arm  of  his 
chair — "I  will  prove  it  on  him  some  day  if  he 
drives  me  far  enough." 

The  two  stared  at  each  other.  Merrilie  spoke 
251 


Merrilie  Dawes 

first.  "If  I  were  sure  of  it  I  would  denounce  him 
to  Amos  Hamersley  to-night." 

Benjamin  held  up  his  hands.  "I've  told  you  I 
can't  prove  it,"  he  said  warningly. 

Merrilie  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would  look 
through  him.  "What  shall  we  do?" 

Benjamin  answered  her  question  with  another. 
"What  can  we  do?" 

She  was  silent — looking  at  him,  he  said  once 
afterward,  with  the  set  look  of  Richard  Dawes 
himself  and  as  if  he  himself  were  the  villain  in- 
stead of  her  mere  Wall  Street  broker.  "The  only 
thing  we  can  do — get  out — you  won't  do,"  he 
added  rebelliously. 

The  blood  colored  her  cheeks.  "You  want  me 
to  close  my  account." 

Benjamin  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Nothing  could 
be  further  from  the  truth!" 

"Oh,  I  know."  She  flung  the  words  like  a  de- 
fiance. "When  I  ask  you  for  advice  that  is  what 
you  give  me:  'Get  out!'  If  I  were  a  man  and 
you  a  woman,  do  you  suppose  I  should  say  that? 
Did  you  ever  suggest  that  to  my  father?" 

Benjamin  seated  himself.  "My  dear  Miss 
Dawes,  will  you  excuse  me?  Let  me  be  blunt.  I 
always  knew,  when  your  father  was  in  a  deal,  why 
he  was  in.  If  you'll  tell  me  why  you  are  in  this 
deal — risking  every  dollar  you  have  in  the  world — 

252 


Merrilie  Dawes 

I'll  be  in  a  position  to  advise  you."  He  fell  back 
in  his  chair.  "  I'm  not  now,"  he  concluded  moodily. 

"Then  just  consider  that  I  no  longer  ask  you 
for  advice,"  she  retorted  sharply.  "I  am  in  Steel 
because  I  believe  in  it,  and  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to 
execute  my  orders." 

"And  they  are,  to  support  the  market  to- 
morrow?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  must  have  money." 

"How  much?"  she  asked. 

Her  hands  tightened  at  the  sum  he  named. 
More  than  once  since  her  father  died  she  had  told 
herself  it  would  not  be  humanly  possible  to  get 
to  the  end  of  her  seemingly  boundless  resources — 
the  packages  upon  packages  of  shares  in  the  great 
railroads,  the  bulky  blocks  on  blocks  of  bonds 
that  filled  compartment  after  compartment  in  her 
safe-deposit  boxes.  Her  liquid  assets  had  seemed 
impregnable  in  their  astonishing  totals.  She  had 
reached  their  end. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Benjamin,  as  he  watched  the 
hunted  expression  in  her  eyes,  pitied  her. 

"It's  a  plain  proposition,"  he  tried  to  say  coolly. 
"We  have  got  to  clean  the  other  side  out  or  they'll 
clean  us  out." 

She  rose,  walked  like  one  in  a  trance  to  her  open 
desk,  stood  before  it  a  moment,  and  sat  slowly 

253 


Merrilie  Dawes 

down.  A  cheque-book  lay  at  her  hand;  she  tossed 
it  away.  Looking  abstractedly  at  the  big  bal- 
ance-sheet Tilden  had  placed  there,  her  fingers 
moved  uncertainly  over  it.  "You  will  have  to 
raise  some  money  for  me,"  she  said  at  length,  "on 
Steel  collateral." 

He  threw  up  his  head  scoffingly.  "I  couldn't 
raise  ten  thousand  dollars  on  Steel  collateral. 
That's  flat.  We  might  as  well  face  it  first  as  last." 
"You've  got  to  do  it,  Mr.  Benjamin.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  a  stock  selling  at  a  hundred  and  sev- 
enty to-day  is  absolutely  worthless?" 

"I  mean  to  say  you  can't  raise  money  to-night 
on  government  bonds." 

"Can't  you  borrow  more  on  the  bank  stock?" 
"Yes,  but  I  must  have  more — and  lots  more." 
"You  have  some  East  Shore  fours." 
"I  offered  them  at  thirty-eight  to-day;  I  couldn't 
get  twenty.     I  couldn't  even  get  a  bid.     This  isn't 
a  market.     A  million  melts  in  a  minute.     Don't 
you  understand?     This  is  a  panic." 

She  seemed,  as  he  flung  the  pitiless  facts  at  her, 
to  be  hardening  to  steel  herself.  Nothing  he 
could  say  would  break  her  nerve.  She  sat  look- 
ing directly  at  Benjamin  and  her  gaze  disturbed 
him.  He  caught  the  mahogany  arm  of  his  chair 
in  his  hand.  When  he  looked  back  to  Merrilie, 
her  eyes  were  still  on  him.  "Do  you  know,"  she 

254 


Merrilie  Dawes 

asked,  referring  steadily  to  the  enormous  sum  he 
had  called  for,  "of  any  way  we  can  raise  that 
much  money  to-morrow?" 

It  was  only  by  the  forced  evenness  of  her  tone 
that  he  understood,  and,  reading  her  mind  in- 
stantly, he  thought  he  knew  the  answer  she  ex- 
pected. But  it  was  an  answer  that  even  she 
could  not  wring  from  him  at  such  a  juncture.  He 
lied  without  hesitation.  "No." 

She  made  no  move  to  speak  again.  The  silence 
was  almost  unbearable.  It  was  a  duel,  he  knew, 
between  her  and  himself  as  to  which  should  make 
the  suggestion,  but  he  was  resolved  she  should 
not  extort  it  from  him.  Merrilie  flung  a  letter 
from  under  her  hand. 

"Who,"  she  asked  slowly,  "was  your  friend 
that  wanted  to  buy  this  property  last  winter?" 

This  was  the  question  he  had  waited  for.  He 
answered  as  if  he  expected  it.  "It  was  Robert 
Kimberly." 

"Why  did  he  want  it?" 

"He  was  to  be  married.  He  wanted  to  put  a 
building  here  to  give  his  wife."  Merrilie  held  her 
breath  an  instant.  "Does  he  want  it  yet?"  she 
demanded  briefly. 

"The  woman  he  was  to  marry  died  two  weeks 
before  the  day  set  for  the  wedding.  I  haven't 
seen  Robert  Kimberly  for  months." 

255 


Merrilie  Dawes 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  choking.  "I  will  never 
sell  it.  It  is  needless  to  think  of  it." 

"You  would  be  crazy  to  think  of  it,"  retorted 
Benjamin  significantly.  "Your  father  would  turn 
over  in  his  grave  if  you  did  sell  it.  Good-night." 

"You  must  think  of  some  way  to  get  money 
to-morrow,"  rejoined  Merrilie  warningly  as  he 
started  toward  the  door. 

He  halted  as  if  in  resentment  and  looked  back 
at  her,  but  his  impatience  did  not  pass  his  lips; 
her  assurance  silenced  him. 

"If  you  think  after  dinner  of  any  way,"  she 
added  composedly,  "let  me  know.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Benjamin,  the  Gazette  to-night  speaks  of  a 
trust  company  being  in  difficulties " 

"They  are  all  in  difficulties,"  snapped  Benjamin. 

"You  know  what  I  mean — acute,"  said  Merrilie 
with  impatience. 

"So  do  I  mean  acute,"  vociferated  the  broker. 
"Everybody  is  in  difficulties.  There  are  runs  on 
half  the  trust  companies  in  town."  He  stretched 
his  arm  suddenly  toward  the  window.  "Down- 
town to-night  they  are  standing  in  lines  two  blocks 
long  waiting  for  the  bank  doors  to  open  to-morrow 
morning — difficulties!"  His  gesture  as  he  jerked 
back  his  stocky  head  was  hopeless.  Merrilie  felt 
for  the  first  time,  in  all  its  keenness,  the  fear 
that  hung  that  night  over  New  York. 

256 


She  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  choking.     "I  will  never  sell  it. 
It  is  needless  to  think  of  it." 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Can  they  stand  these  runs?" 

"No,"  he  blurted.  "Two  Wall  Street  trust 
companies  may  close  their  doors  to-morrow." 

"Is  there  any  ground  for  the  Street  rumors 
about  Adrane  Brothers?" 

Benjamin  shot  a  look  at  her  and  his  eyes  flashed. 
"They  have  got  a  load  for  a  dozen  trust  com- 
panies." 

"Can  they  carry  it,  Mr.  Benjamin?" 

"That  is  up  to  John  Adrane.  He  doesn't  de- 
serve any  sympathy." 

"He  doesn't  ask  any,  does  he?"  returned  Mer- 
rilie coolly. 

"He  has  stirred  the  animals  up;  let  him  feed 
them.  Fine  time  for  a  bull  campaign,  with  bonds 
selling  for  old  iron!" 

"Do  you  think  he  will  hold  out?" 

"If  he  can  hold  out  for  the  last  three  hours  to- 
morrow he  can  hold  out  forever," 

Merrilie  asked  nothing  further.  She  returned 
in  silence  to  her  room.  She  thought  of  her  father 
and  vainly  wished  him  back;  and  with  the  more 
compunction  because  she  knew  she  had  already 
done  things  so  rash  with  his  trust  that  she  hardly 
dared  look  at  his  face  before  her  or  think  of  his 
rebuke. 

And  keener  compunction  underlay  the  reflection 
that  she  had  conceived  of  still  more  desperate  ex- 

257 


Merrilie  Dawes 

pedients  to  support  Adrane  in  his  desperate  com- 
mitments. Her  unexpected  failure  to  raise  funds 
for  the  morrow  on  her  remaining  bonds  had  only 
stirred  her  to  further  measures.  The  difficulties 
of  banks  and  trust  companies  excited  her  contempt 
as  they  had  excited  her  father's  before  her.  Of 
him  she  now  recalled,  with  angry  determination, 
that  once  embarked  on  a  course  nothing  swerved 
him.  And  from  the  thought  of  him  her  mind  ran 
constantly  to  the  thought  of  John  Adrane. 

Toward  Adrane  she  would  not  analyze  to  the 
uttermost  her  feelings.  That  they  were  friends — 
just  good  friends — was  reason  enough  why  she 
should  not  desert  him  now  when  others  were 
failing.  She  who  looked  with  scepticism  on  faith 
in  friends  and  on  professions  of  friendship  now 
prided  herself  that  her  friendship  should  mean 
something  to  him.  He  was  bound  to  Annie,  true; 
it  was  a  hateful  thought,  one  she  chafed  under 
more  and  more.  But  the  ropes  that  bound  him 
were  ropes  of  sand,  and  Merrilie  liked  to  think 
with  continuing  pride  that  if  she  but  lifted  her 
ringer  John  Adrane  would  come. 

She  sat  for  an  hour  in  moody  silence  wishing 
that  the  telephone  might  ring,  that  the  door-bell 
might  ring,  that  he  would  come  and,  in  spite  of 
her  rebuffs,  intrude  himself  on  her  as  he  had  done 
more  than  once  before.  But  no  bell  rang,  noth- 

258 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ing  broke  in  on  her  thoughts,  and  these  turned 
always  to  means  for  helping  him.  Now,  tied 
hand  and  foot  by  a  wretched  panic,  she  saw  her- 
self helpless  to  aid  him — helpless,  unless — she 
could  bring  herself  to  part  with  her  home. 

Staring  at  her  father's  face  on  the  wall,  she 
gripped  her  hands  together.  She  tried  to  think 
of  the  less  dreadful  aspects  of  the  step.  It  would 
bring  money,  so  much  money,  when  nothing  else 
would.  Some  time  it  must  give  way,  anyway,  to 
the  irresistible  expansion  of  the  city.  Some  one, 
she  remembered,  had  once  told  her  it  might  be 
condemned  by  the  city  and  taken,  in  spite  of 
everything,  for  a  public  use.  Was  not  her  resolve 
to  keep  it  mere  obstinacy,  after  all  ?  Its  price  now 
in  gold  would  mean  so  much;  perhaps  tide  John 
over.  She  realized  for  the  first  time  she  was  think- 
ing of  him  as  John,  as  he  thought  of  her  as  Merrilie. 
She  might  some  time  in  the  future  decide  to  sell 
the  house  anyway.  What  would  the  money  mean 
to  her  when  she  had  no  use  for  it? 

And  for  the  future?  From  her  deep  chair,  in 
which  she  sat  curled,  she  stared  long  into  vacancy. 
If  she  could  only  read  the  future!  She  resisted 
putting  the  longing  that  was  in  her  heart  into  men- 
tal words.  She  hated  to  admit  even  to  herself  that 
she  cared  so  much  for  John  Adrane.  She  went 
over  and  over  every  word  he  had  ever  said  to  her, 

259 


Merrilie  Dawes 

every  look  she  could  recall  that  had  significance, 
and  she  knew  with  the  sureness  of  a  woman's  in- 
stinct that  Adrane  cared  deeply  for  her,  and  for 
her  own  sake — for  her  eyes,  her  voice,  her  words, 
herself. 

And  she  knew,  and  would  no  longer  deny,  it  was 
a  fondness  for  him  that  was  pleading  for  him  now 
— not  that  he  was  asking  for  support,  not  that  he 
would  even  know  who  had  given  it,  but  because 
she  cared  for  him  she  wanted  to  give  it.  To  lend 
him  strength  to  fight  his  enemies  when  no  one  else 
could  lend  it — the  thought  came  with  a  thrill. 
That  she,  of  all  others,  had  the  power  consoled  her 
pride.  Prudence  told  her  she  had  already  trav- 
elled, even  with  all  her  great  resources,  too  far  on 
a  very  dangerous  path — moved  at  first,  perhaps, 
by  caprice,  recklessness,  whatever  it  might  be. 
But,  after  all,  it  had  been  a  caprice  well 
grounded,  excited  by  one  lively  motive — because 
she  was  fond  of  this  man  who  had  come  so 
strangely  into  her  life.  His  eyes  pleased  her,  his 
voice  moved  her,  his  presence  gratified  her,  his 
stubborn  advances  continually  excited  in  her 
heart  a  vivid  interest.  She  had  fed  her  pride  on 
rejecting  them  and,  with  capricious  tenderness, 
softly  breathing  new  life  into  them  again. 

If  they  should  cease,  what  should  she  do? 
When  had  life  ever  looked  emptier  than  it  looked 

260 


Merrilie  Dawes 

in  that  thought?  Merrilie  sprang  to  her  feet. 
She  drew  a  deep,  deep  breath  and  stretched  her 
hands  high  above  her  head.  Then  covering  her 
eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hands  as  she  turned  to 
her  divan,  she  sank  down  on  it  and  buried  her 
face  in  a  pillow — as  if  she  would  hide  her  thoughts 
even  from  her  burning  cheeks. 

She  would  love  him — nothing  in  all  the  world 
should  stop  her,  and  some  day  he  should  know  it. 
Neither  reproaches  nor  resentment  on  the  one 
hand,  neither  poverty  nor  ruin  on  the  other,  should 
defeat  her.  The  supreme  moment  in  her  life  had 
come  and  she  would  meet  it.  Let  him  choose, 
when  he  must,  between  Annie  and  her.  If  Mrs. 
Whitney  and  his  sister  had  intrigued,  because  he 
was  a  "good  catch,"  into  engaging  him  to  a  pretty 
and  marrying  girl,  they  might  hold  him  to  his 
entanglement  if  they  could.  To  let  her  hand 
linger  for  one  moment  within  his,  to  let  her  eyes 
speak  in  but  one  glance  to  his  eyes,  to  let  her  voice 
fall  in  a  single  caressing  accent  on  his  listening  ear 
— that  was  all  the  test  Merrilie  would  ask  for  John 
Adrane.  If  her  Samson  should  fail,  at  even  so 
slight  a  beckoning  as  this,  to  rise  with  the  gates 
of  Gaza — posts,  bolts,  and  all — on  his  shoulders 
and  follow  her,  then  the  strength  of  his  longing 
had  wofully  deceived  her. 

But  she  knew,  as  she  compressed  her  lips,  that 
261 


Merrilie  Dawes 

she  was  not  deceived.  From  the  pillow  she  raised 
herself  upon  her  arms  with  a  flushed  face  and 
looked  around  her  room.  The  room  itself  bore 
another  aspect  in  the  light  of  her  resolve.  Every- 
thing within  it  was  already  but  a  means  to  one 
great  end,  to  bring  to  her  her  love.  She  put  her 
hands  to  her  forehead;  it  was  hot  with  blood. 
Her  deep  breathing  pleasantly  swayed  her  senses. 
For  an  instant  she  let  the  flood  of  her  emotions 
sweep  fully  over  her,  and,  raising  her  hands  again 
above  her  head,  lifted  her  eyes,  unveiled,  to  a 
vision. 

The  faint  ringing  of  a  bell  brought  her  back 
to  earth.  It  startled  her,  for  the  hour  was  very 
late.  Rising,  clear-headed,  composed,  and  resolved, 
Merrilie  stepped  into  her  writing-room  to  an- 
swer the  telephone.  When  she  said  "Yes,"  she 
was  masking  so  much  in  her  heart  that  her  tone 
sounded  false  to  her  own  ear. 


262 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BENJAMIN  was  on  the  wire.     "I  am  speak- 
ing from   the  Waldorf,"  he  explained.     "I 
have  just  heard  on  pretty  good  authority  that  two 
of  the  trust  companies  that  are  in  trouble  won't 
open  to-morrow." 

Merrilie  was  silent  for  a  moment.     "Do  you 
suppose  it's  true?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Nothing  would  surprise  me  after  all  I've  heard 
to-night." 

"What  else  of  importance?" 

"Rumors — no  use  repeating  them  over  the 
wire." 

"Mr.  Benjamin,  can  you  hear  me?" 

"Perfectly." 

"I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  am  going  to  let 
Mr.  Kimberly  have  my  Fifth  Avenue  property— 
the  whole  frontage  within  the  three  streets.  And 
I  want  the  money  to-morrow — do  you  hear  me?" 

"I  hear  you." 

"Try  to  get  hold  of  him  to-night  and  close  the 
deal,  will  you  ? " 

263 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Get  hold  of  him  to-night?  That  is  not  pos- 
sible. Neither  of  the  Kimberlys  has  been  in 
town  all  summer." 

"Get  him  on  the  wire  at  Second  Lake.  Tell 
him  this  is  his  chance.  I  may  not  wish  to  sell 
to-morrow  night — he  knows  what  that  means.  If 
he  wants  it  he  must  act." 

Her  courage  oozed  a  little  with  every  word  she 
spoke,  but  she  stuck  to  her  determination  and 
gave  Benjamin  clear  and  cogent  instructions  as 
to  what  to  do — the  price  to  demand,  the  things 
to  say — much  of  it  with  her  heart  beating  like  a 
trip-hammer — but  Benjamin  could  not  hear  that. 
The  night  air  was  still  and  oppressive.  She  rang 
for  a  negligee.  When  Rose  left  her,  Merrilie 
turned  out  the  lights  and,  walking  to  the  middle 
window,  pushed  back  the  curtains  and,  standing  in 
the  darkness,  looked  out  on  the  Avenue.  The 
dark  asphalt  pavement  gave  back  to  the  higher 
level  of  the  house  the  swift,  subdued  whir  of  the 
procession  of  motor-cars.  At  intervals  a  cab  or 
carriage  passed  and  the  sharp  ring  of  hoofs 
punctuated  the  steady  hum  of  the  engines.  The 
scene  was  one  to  which  she  had  always  been  in- 
different and  to  which  her  attention  could  have 
been  drawn  only  with  a  dislike  for  this  ceaseless 
stream  of  motoring  thousands.  But  she  was  look- 
ing now  on  the  neglected  spectacle  with  a  feeling 

264 


Merrilie  Dawes 

she  had  never  experienced:  the  feeling  of  a  fare- 
well to  something  we  have  never  prized  and  con- 
cerning which  we  ask,  in  parting,  whether  we  shall 
not  some  time  miss  it.  She  had  raised  one  arm 
to  lean  against  the  casement,  and  as  she  rested  on 
it  her  forehead  fell  again  on  the  back  of  her 
drooping  hand. 

Motionless,  Merrilie  looked  down  on  the  familiar 
street,  and  its  clustered  lamps,  its  retreating  shad- 
ows, its  darkened  houses,  and  its  flitting  head- 
lights, with  a  sense  of  confusion  and  disquiet. 
After  all,  it  was  home — the  old  house,  the  old 
street,  this  babel  of  sound,  this  swiftness  of  flight. 
She  was  giving  it  up — and  for  an  arrow  shot  into 
the  air.  Her  head  rested  heavily  on  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  blurred. 

Merrilie  had  never  known  what  patience  is. 
This  night  she  knew.  When  she  at  length  left 
the  window,  she  sat  pitifully  down  near  the  tele- 
phone to  await  her  call,  and  long  before  it  came 
she  had  forced  herself  to  await  it  calmly. 

She  heard  Benjamin's  voice  almost  before  she 
had  placed  the  receiver  to  her  ear. 

"I  have  talked  with  Charles  Kimberly  at  Sec- 
ond Lake,"  he  said  slowly  and  distinctly.  "His 
brother  is  somewhere  on  the  north  Atlantic,  cruis- 
ing, and  hasn't  been  heard  from  directly  for  weeks. 
Charles  Kimberly  tells  me  it  is  very  certain  that 

265 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Robert  Kimberly  will  not  now  consider  buying 
real  estate  of  any  description." 

"Will  Charles  buy?"  demanded  Merrilie  before 
Benjamin  could  continue. 

"Yes— and  no." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Where  are  you  speaking 
from?" 

"From  the  hotel.  He  might  buy.  But  he 
would  not  pay  what  his  brother  would  have  paid." 

"How  much  less  does  he  want  it  for?" 

"I  will  never  sell  for  such  a  figure,"  exclaimed 
Merrilie  when  she  heard  the  answer.  "It  is  ridic- 
ulous. You  had  better  come  over  here  right 
away." 

When  Benjamin  reached  the  house  he  found  her 
in  the  library.  "It  is  absurd  for  Charles  Kim- 
berly to  make  such  an  offer,"  she  declared  before 
her  visitor  could  utter  a  word.  "Robert  sent  a 
representative,  Mr.  McCrea,  to  me  here  once  with 
a  much  larger  offer." 

She  emphasized  her  words  with  a  confidence 
that  astonished  Benjamin.  He  held  up  two 
fingers. 

"Just  a  moment.  Charles  Kimberly  didn't 
make  any  offer  to  me.  I  drew  out  his  mind  by 
questioning  him.  He  isn't  anxious  to  buy,"  as- 
serted Benjamin  with  all  the  emphasis  he  himself 
could  show. 

266 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  tossed  her  head.  "No  buyer  is  willing 
to  appear  eager.  I  happen  to  know  they  have 
wanted  this  place  for  years.  I  know  how  much 
they  want  it.  Charles  is  a  harder  buyer  than  his 
brother — I  know  them  both.  Mr.  McCrea  asked 
if  I  would  consider  four  millions,  and  I  said  no. 
Tell  Charles  Kimberly  that,  to-night" — she  dwelt 
on  the  last  word — "I  will  take  three  million 
dollars  for  the  property — nothing  less.  And  if  he 
doesn't  want  it,  it  goes  to-morrow  morning  to  the 
best  bidder  in  the  street." 

She  spoke  so  rapidly,  so  firmly,  without  hesita- 
tion or  slip,  and  with  the  stubbornness  of  an  auto- 
crat instead  of  the  fluttering  apprehension  of  a 
needy  seller.  Benjamin  extended  his  clinched 
hands  as  he  listened.  "By  Heavens,  Miss  Mer- 
rilie," he  exclaimed,  "you're  a  marvel." 

The  sudden  outburst  upset  her.  She  threw  her- 
self into  a  chair.  "What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin?" she  demanded,  annoyed. 

"The  way  you  go  at  a  thing,  the  snap  you 
put  into  it,  the  confidence  you  have!" 

Merrilie,  supporting  her  head  on  her  hand  as 
she  rested  her  elbow  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
looked  at  him  dismally. 

"We  must  have  money — go,  do  your  duty." 
She  rose  uneasily  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke  the 
words.  "And  I  don't  know  whether  I  most 

267 


Merrilie  Dawes 

want  you  to  succeed  or  to  fail,"  she  added.  "It 
kills  me  to  part  with  this  place;  yet  it  must  go 
some  time.  I  used  to  hope  it  would  outlast  my 
day." 

When  he  had  gone  she  went  up-stairs  and  threw 
herself,  without  undressing,  on  her  bed.  Rose, 
peeping  through  the  door  at  daylight,  saw  her 
mistress  lying  on  the  mull  coverlet.  She  threw 
a  scarf  over  her  and  left  her  until  eight  o'clock, 
when  she  roused  her  out  of  a  heavy  sleep  to 
say  that  Mr.  Benjamin  would  be  back  at  nine 
o'clock  and  must  see  her  promptly.  He  came  a 
little  before  the  time.  Merrilie  met  him  with  her 
heart  in  her  throat.  She  was  hoping  he  would 
say  he  had  failed.  But  the  word  she  had  feared 
he  brought — he  had  sold  to  Charles  Kimberly. 

He  told  it  all.  She  regarded  him  helplessly. 
Dazed,  she  heard  him  add  that  a  lawyer  would 
soon  arrive  with  a  contract  for  her  to  sign,  and 
that  the  stipulation  was  she  should  have  half  her 
money  at  eleven  o'clock  that  morning  and  the  re- 
mainder Monday  morning  at  eleven.  Her  hands 
and  feet  grew  cold.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to 
speak  connectedly  until  she  thought  of  inviting 
the  broker,  who  confessed  to  having  been  up  all 
night,  to  sit  down  with  her  to  coffee  and  rolls. 

When  the  papers  were  laid  before  her  in  the 
library  she  tried  hard  to  follow  the  words  of  the 

268 


Merrilie  Dawes 

smooth-spoken,  young,  and  alive-looking  lawyer, 
who  explained  that  she  was  signing  a  contract 
to  sell. 

Merrilie  cared  little  for  his  words  or  his  explana- 
tions; she  was  only  collecting  courage  enough  as 
she  listened  to  take,  calmly,  the  pen  he  handed 
her  and  sign  away,  without  trembling,  her  home. 
The  very  composure  with  which  she  succeeded 
frightened  her.  When  the  two  men  were  gone — 
and  they  left  very  quickly,  for  Benjamin  showed 
in  his  manner  the  fever  of  his  anxiety  to  com- 
pass the  undertaking  and  fortify  himself  against 
the  market  at  the  earliest  possible  moment — 
Merrilie,  limp  and  nerveless,  went  up-stairs.  She 
sat  down  in  her  room  and  stared  at  the  gold  on 
her  dressing-table.  Again  and  again  she  tried  to 
drive  herself  into  sending  for  Tilden.  He  must 
be  told,  but  she  could  not  summon  courage  to 
tell  him,  and  was  not  roused  from  her  apathy 
until  Rose  entered  and  said  Tilden  had  asked  to 
see  her.  Merrilie's  conscience  misgave  her — could 
he  already  have  heard? 

He  came  in  with  a  newspaper  extra  to  tell  Mer- 
rilie an  up-town  trust  company  had  closed  its 
doors  and  a  panic  had  struck  Wall  Street.  She 
bade  him  be  seated. 

"I  was  told  last  night  two  trust  companies 
would  not  open  to-day,"  said  Merrilie,  resolved 

269 


Merrilie  Dawes 

now  to  go  through  with  her  task.  "Things  must 
be  very  bad  on  'change,  Tilden " 

"Yes,  Miss  Merrilie." 

"And  I  have  sold  the  house." 

"The  house?" 

"This  house." 

Tilden  started.    "This  house?" 

Merrilie  nodded  confirmingly.  "Charles  Kim- 
berly  has  bought  it,  Tilden." 

She  told  him  the  price.  The  old  secretary 
caught  at  the  arms  of  his  chair.  "Why — what — ! " 
He  stopped. 

Merrilie  leaned  forward  sympathetically:  "It 
would  have  had  to  go  some  time,  Tilden.  I  have 
fought  against  it  for  years.  The  Kimberlys  have 
long  wanted  it  for  an  office  building,  and  I  have 
refused  them  again  and  again " 

Tilden's  face  turned  gray.  His  straining  eyes 
rested  on  Merrilie's  lips  as  if  he  feared  he  did  not 
hear  aright.  His  consternation  was  unnerving, 
and  she  continued  to  speak  as  if  she  did  not  per- 
ceive how  visibly  he  failed  under  the  blow.  When 
he  got  up  to  leave  the  room  he  was  uncertain  in 
his  movements.  In  the  few  moments  he  had  aged 
years. 

The  young  lawyer  was  announced  again  almost 
at  the  moment  that  Tilden  disappeared.  He 
brought  Charles  Kimberly's  check.  Merrilie 

270 


Merrilie  Dawes 

thanked  him  and,  with  the  little  slip  for  her  mil- 
lions in  her  hand,  ran  up-stairs  to  indorse  it  di- 
rectly to  her  brokers  and  despatch  it  by  Tilden  in 
a  sealed  envelope  to  them.  The  receipt  of  the 
money  brought  renewed  courage.  Hope  succeeded 
depression.  She  convinced  herself  that  all  would 
come  well. 

On  the  stock  exchange  half  the  traders  in  the 
great  room  crowded  for  the  opening  toward  the 
Steel  post.  The  instant  the  gong  sounded  a  flood 
of  selling  orders  overwhelmed  the  few  brokers  that 
stood  under  the  market.  These,  through  an  in- 
stinct of  defence,  huddled  together  and,  back  to 
back,  fought  the  mob  that  howled  around  them. 
Enormous  blocks  of  Steel  were  thrown,  without 
heed  of  buyer  or  price,  at  the  pool  brokers.  Sales 
were  made  at  the  same  moment  points  apart.  In 
the  opening  panic  there  was  no  such  a  thing  as  a 
quotation.  Values  gave  alarmingly  all  over  the 
room.  A  crop  of  terrifying  rumors  sprang  up, 
stop-loss  orders  went  to  the  dogs,  quotations  could 
not  be  caught  in  the  swaying  fight.  In  ten  min- 
utes the  stock  had  dropped  twenty  points.  In  the 
height  of  the  panic  feeble  buying  began.  At  every 
wild  drop  Benjamin's  brokers  took  Steel.  Adrane 
Brothers'  men  got  near  them  and  fought  back  the 
panic-stricken  sellers.  Call  money,  which  had 
risen  to  eighty  per  cent,  sunk  later,  but  the  relief 

271 


Merrilie  Dawes 

brought  no  cessation  of  Steel  selling.  Every  com- 
mission house  was  loaded  with  selling  orders  until 
the  last  ten  minutes,  when,  with  Steel  fifty  points 
under  the  opening,  brokers  for  Benjamin  &  Com- 
pany began  stemming  the  tide  for  a  rally.  Short 
sellers,  dismayed  by  an  unexpected  resistance, 
turned  to  cover.  The  rumored  bank  failures  did 
not  materialize.  Bargain-hunters  began  to  buy. 
Adrane  Brothers  and  the  pool  houses  timidly 
pushed  Steel  up.  The  closing  gong  sounded. 
Wilted  brokers  crowded  out  of  the  room.  Benja- 
min saw  Bob  Adrane.  He  was  wiping  the  perspi- 
ration from  his  face.  "The  whole  United  States 
was  after  us  this  morning,  Henry,"  he  cried. 

"Monday,"  retorted  Benjamin,  "it  will  be  the 
whole  world.  If  you've  got  anybody  over  at  your 
shop  that  looks  like  Atlas,  scrub  him  up,  Bob. 
You'll  need  him." 

Late  in  the  evening  Benjamin  called  Merrilie  to 
say  it  would  be  morning  before  the  bookkeepers 
could  tell  where  they  stood.  He  only  knew  they 
were  up  to  their  ears  in  Steel,  with  enough  still 
coming  to  sink  the  British  navy. 

Merrilie  dressed  for  dinner  with  her  accustomed 
care.  If  her  dinners  in  her  father's  home  were 
numbered,  those  that  remained  should  not  be 
slighted.  Her  aunt  did  not  come  down,  and 
Merrilie  was  forced  to  confess  to  being  desper- 

272 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ately  lonely — once  she  tried  to  fancy  John  Adrane 
opposite  her.  But  the  dinner  was  no  more  than 
begun  when  Rose,  with  a  flutter  of  apologies,  en- 
tered the  dining-room.  She  regarded  her  mistress 
with  apprehension,  and  Merrilie  saw  the  confusion 
in  her  pretty  maid's  eyes.  "  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked 
quietly. 

Rose's  eyes  lost  none  of  their  startled  expression 
as  she  answered :  "Mr.  Adrane." 

"Say,  merely,"  returned  Merrilie,  "I  am  not  at 
home." 

Rose  caught  at  the  ruffle  of  her  apron.  "I  am  in 
trouble,"  she  stammered,  "for  I  say  you  are  .not  at 
home.  Mr.  Adrane  say,  will  you  be  home  to- 
night. I  tell  him  I  do  not  know.  He  sit  down  and 
say  he  waits  till  you  come." 

Merrilie  rose  in  subdued  consternation.  She 
stood  a  moment  confronting  Rose.  Then,  with 
her  finger  bent  upon  her  lips,  Merrilie  said,  low 
and  in  French:  "Go  back,  Rose.  Tell  Mr.  Ad- 
rane you  have  seen  Kennedy — that  he  tells  you  I 
shall  not  be  back  to-night."  Giving  the  instruc- 
tion hurriedly,  Merrilie,  slipping  through  a  side 
door,  went  by  a  private  stairway  up  to  her  room. 

Adrane,  in  the  library  off  the  dining-room,  met 
Rose  with  a  searching  gaze  when  she  returned  with 
her  message.  "Rose,"  he  said  bluntly,  "I  hope 
you  are  telling  me  the  truth." 

273 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Oh,  monsieur!" 

"I  must  see  your  mistress.  Ask  Kennedy  where 
she  has  gone " 

"I  ask,"  returned  Rose,  improvising  hurriedly; 
"he  said  he  does  not  know;  perhaps  she  will  not 
come  back  to-night." 

"She  does  not  leave  home  for  all  night  without 
taking  you,  Rose.  I  will  wait  here  till  she  comes. 
I  must  see  her." 

"What  shall  we  do?"  exclaimed  the  maid,  giv- 
ing his  words  to  Merrilie.  "That  man  he  will 
stay  all  night." 

"He  will  not  stay  an  hour,  Rose.  Be  patient. 
Take  papers  to  him,  and  magazines." 

In  the  library  Adrane  brushed  aside  Rose's 
sophisms  with  scant  ceremony.  His  manner  was 
abstracted,  unconcerned,  uncivil,  arbitrary.  He 
sent  for  Kennedy  and  questioned  him — without 
result.  Rose  at  length  proposed  that  her  mis- 
tress should  steal  away  from  the  house  through  a 
private  door  and  in  a  curtained  limousine  in  which 
she  could  return  later  if  she  wished.  Merrilie 
rejected  the  proposal  almost  pettishly,  and  the 
troubled  maid  found  her  mistress  as  difficult  as 
her  visitor.  At  length  Merrilie  reached  a  de- 
cision. She  looked  at  the  clock;  it  was  ten 
minutes  past  nine.  She  would  let  him  sit  until 
ten  o'clock.  If  he  remained  till  then  she  would 

274 


Merrilie  Dawes 

go  down   and  demand  to  know  why  he  was  so 
unmannerly. 

But  Merrilie's  clock  moved  with  leaden  hands. 
She  hung  out  alone,  and  in  silence,  twelve  minutes 
longer.  By  that  time  Merrilie  had  confessed  to 
herself  she  wanted  to  see  Adrane  as  much  as  he 
wanted  to  see  her,  and  resolved  that  she  would  see 
him  now,  at  once.  She  summoned  Rose  for  a 
critical  inspection  and  asked  for  ornaments.  One 
after  another  of  these  she  rejected.  The  last,  a 
rope  of  pearls,  seemed  heavy  on  her  neck.  She 
threw  it  off,  chose  a  rosebud  from  a  jar,  picked 
up  her  skirt,  walked  without  hesitation  across  the 
hall,  and  tripped  swiftly  down-stairs. 


275 


CHAPTER  XX 

SHE    met   Adrane    without    a   trace    of   em- 
barrassment.   "I    have   kept   you  waiting." 
She  gave  him  her  hand  because  he  held  out  his 
hand  patiently.     "Rose  tells  me  you  have  been 
here  some  time.     I  am  sorry,"  she  added  coldly. 

His  manner  was  grave.  "I  am  sorry,"  he  re- 
turned, "to  be  importunate.  I  had — or  thought 
I  had — to  see  you."  He  clung  to  the  hand  she 
had  given  him. 

Merrilie  regarded  him  indifferently.  "You 
only  thought  you  had?"  she  echoed,  endeavoring 
resolutely  to  pull  her  hand  away. 

"You  shall  see,"  he  answered  without  releasing 
her  reluctant  fingers.  He  stood  looking  at  her 
fixedly.  Something  in  his  expression  alarmed  her 
and  her  eyes  surrendered  to  the  authority  of  his 
gaze.  "Merrilie,"  he  said  frankly,  "I  have  lost 
everything." 

She  stepped  closer  and,  with  her  eyes  still  look- 
ing into  his,  mutely  laid  her  left  hand  over  the  big 
one  that  imprisoned  her  right.  When  she  spoke 
her  voice  faltered.  "What  do  you  mean?"  she 
asked. 

276 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Every  dollar  I  have  in  the  world  is  gone — all 
that  I  have  and  a  great  deal  more." 

She  recovered  herself  first.  She  made  him  sit 
down  on  the  divan  and  sat  down  beside  him. 
He  would  not  let  her  hand  go.  It  seemed  heart- 
less at  such  a  moment  to  take  it  away. 

"I  have  fought  as  long  as  I  could,"  he  went 
on  doggedly.  "They  have  got  me — I  am  broke. 
This  is — and  is  not — the  reason  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  before  I  have  told  any  one  else.  No 
one  knows  yet;  no  one  will  till  late  to-morrow 
morning.  Perhaps  we  can  weather  it  another 
day.  But  we  are  gone.  To-night,"  he  went  on 
in  the  same  grave  way,  "I  heard  something  that 
worries  me,  and  that  is  why  I  came.  I  heard, 
Merrilie,  that  you  have  been  buying  Steel."  He 
looked  searchingly  at  her.  She  met  his  gaze  with- 
out flinching,  but  he  would  say  no  more.  She 
was  compelled  to  speak. 

"Well?"  she  managed  to  return  when  the  strain 
of  his  eyes  forced  a  word  from  her. 

"I  am  sorrier,"  he  said,  "than  I  can  tell  to 
think  of  your  losing  money  in  any  venture  of  mine. 
Have  you  lost  very  much?"  Her  reticence  defied 
penetration.  She  was  smiling  but  indifferent.  He 
kept  on.  "At  all  events,  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
to  place  selling  orders  to-night  for  such  stock  as 
you  have  bought,  and  you  may  as  well  sell  all  that 

277 


Merrilie  Dawes 

you  can  on  top  of  that."  Her  eyes  opened  wide 
at  his  suggestion  and  she  regarded  him  strangely. 
"It  may  help,"  he  explained,  "to  recoup  your 
losses.  Do  you  care  to  tell  me  just  how  you 
stand?" 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  are  in  trouble,  John,"  she 
answered  with  tender  sincerity.  He  regarded 
her  in  silence.  "Are  you  sure  it  is  as  bad  as  you 
tell  me?"  she  asked,  confused  before  his  look, 
which  expressed  almost  too  much  for  her  com- 
posure. 

"I  know  precisely  how  bad  off  /  am,"  he  an- 
swered. "The  news  of  your  being  in  this  was 
unnerving.  I  want  above  everything  in  the  world 
to  see  you  get  out  as  lightly  as  possible.  I  want 
to  escape  having  been  the  innocent  cause  of  the 
slightest  loss  to  you.  You  have  been  dealing 
through  Benjamin  &  Company." 

Merrilie's  eyes  flashed.  "Who  told  you  that? 
Did  they?" 

"Don't  for  a  moment  fancy  it.  It  came  to  me 
by  the  merest  accident,  through  one  of  our  book- 
keepers. He  is  an  elderly  man.  Years  ago  he 
worked  for  your  father  and  is  a  chum  of  your 
secretary,  Mr.  Tilden." 

"Tilden!"  echoed  Merrilie,  appalled. 

"Merrilie,"  insisted  Adrane,  "I  don't  want  you 
to  lose  one  dollar  through  my  misfortunes."  The 

278 


Merrilie  Dawes 

pressure  on  her  ringers  tightened.     "In  the  morn- 
ing sell  everything." 

Merrilie  was  looking  at  the  floor.  His  warm 
hand  upon  her  own  was  all  she  could  endure  and 
think.  The  blood  burned  in  her  cool  cheeks,  and 
in  spite  of  her  own  critical  situation  she  was  sur- 
rendering with  quickened  breath  to  the  moment 
that  now  so  powerfully  drew  them  together.  It 
was  in  knowing  he  was  crushed  under  his  misfor- 
tune that  she  felt  safe  in  giving  way  to  her  heart. 
She  looked  up.  Her  flushed  eyes  as  they  met  his 
own  told  their  story.  In  them  he  read  for  the 
first  time  beyond  every  doubt  what  she  felt  to- 
ward him,  no  matter  what  denials  should  ever 
intrench  her  lips. 

"Sell  everything,"  she  echoed  evenly.  "And 
that  means  only  you  left  to  buy  to-morrow." 

"Forget  me — I  am  ruined." 

"Sell  everything — take  a  few  paltry  dollars  for 
myself,  and  for  every  one  I  save,  sacrifice  a  hun- 
dred of  yours " 

"I  tell  you  hundreds  or  thousands  are  nothing 
to  me — I  am  gone." 

"Sell  everything — because,  after  your  efforts 
to  enrich  your  friends,  you  have  found  yourself 
crippled." 

He  started  as  if  in  horror.  "Merrilie,  did  I  ever 
tell  you  to  buy  Steel?" 

279 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"You  never  mentioned  such  a  word  to  me — 
don't  accuse  yourself  of  that."  She  drew  away 
her  hand  and  rose.  She  was  unable  to  breathe  so 
near  him.  "I  won't  sell,"  she  said.  "I  won't  sell 
one  dollar's  worth  of  Steel  to-morrow.  Go  to  your 
other  friends  with  that  chance — it  is  not  for  me. 
John!"  She  turned  suddenly  on  him.  "It  is  for 
you  to  sell  to-morrow.  Sell  every  share  you  can. 
Smash  the  market — it  will  go  anyway — recoup 
yourself." 

"I  couldn't  do  that — my  honor  is  in  it." 

The  retort  burned  on  Merrilie's  lips:  "My  heart 
is  in  it!"  but  she  bit  back  the  words.  "No,"  she 
said,  "I  will  buy  to-morrow.  I  intend  to  buy 
to-morrow  all  I  can." 

He  was  very  firm.  "You  shall  not  buy  one 
share,  Merrilie." 

She  defied  him.  "I  will  as  long  as  I've  money  to 
buy." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  caught  her  arm. 
"  Don't  you  understand  ?  You  will  lose  every  dol- 
lar you  risk." 

"It  is  mine  to  risk  and  mine  to  lose,"  she  re- 
torted contemptuously. 

"Not,"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  "on  any 
wreck  of  my  hopes.  Tell  me  you  won't  do  this," 
he  insisted,  taking  her  hands  in  his  own. 

"I  will  do  it,"  she  returned,  pulling  defiantly 
from  him. 

280 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"By  the  God  above  us,  Merrilie,  you  shall  not 
buy!" 

"Who  will  prevent  me?" 

"I  will  prevent  you,  if  I  have  to  proclaim  my 
bankruptcy  to-morrow  morning  when  the  market 
opens." 

"Do  so  if  you  like.     I  will  buy  all  the  more!" 

Adrane,  stunned  by  her  defiance,  staggering  al- 
ready under  his  own  difficulties,  gave  her  a  look 
of  reproach  that  brought  her,  full  of  remorse,  close 
to  him. 

"What  am  I  saying,  John!"  she  laughed,  low 
and  deliberately.  "Wild,  ridiculous  things!  It's 
only — I  am  hurt  at  your  being  in  trouble!  Forget 
it  all;  be  calm.  What  have  we — of  all  others  in 
the  wide,  wide  world — to  quarrel  about?" 

"It's  only  my  apprehension  for  you,  Merrilie," 
he  interrupted  moodily. 

"Don't  you  think  I  know?" 

"It  cuts  me  like  a  knife  to  think " 

"Don't  think.  Why  think?  Let  us  eat,  John — 
that  would  be  a  thousand  times  better  now.  And 
I'm  going  to  confess  everything.  I  was  just  sit- 
ting down  to  dinner  when  you  came  in.  You 
thought  I  was  out — 

"No,  I  didn't  think  so." 

She  frowned  at  him.  "John!  You  ought  to 
have  thought  so." 

281 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  heard  your  voice." 

"Wretch!" 

"I  was  going  to  wait,  if  I  had  to  stay  all  night." 

"You  may  do  that,  too,  if  you  like.  But  I  am 
hungry  and  you  haven't  had  dinner." 

"I  don't  want  any.  I've  eaten  nothing  all 
day." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do  want  some.  And  I've  a 
special  reason  for  asking  you.  You  mustn't  re- 
fuse." 

"I  must  go  back  to  the  office " 

"After  dinner." 

She  rang  firmly.  "Mr.  Adrane  will  dine  with 
me,"  said  Merrilie,  ignoring  Kennedy's  not  wholly 
concealed  surprise.  "Call  us  as  soon  as  you  are 
ready,"  she  directed.  "And  Kennedy — cham- 
pagne— some  of  father's." 

She  turned  with  glowing  eyes  on  Adrane.  "No 
more  business  now.  Let's  talk  about  Crossrips. 
I  am  dying  to  go  up  there  again.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  night  we  got  caught  in  the  east  rip?" 

Adrane  had  nothing  to  say.  He  waited  for 
Merrilie  to  sit  down  and,  placing  himself  as  close  to 
her  as  he  possibly  could  get  on  the  divan^listened, 
smiling  grimly.  Merrilie,  intent  on  diverting  him, 
talked.  But  she  did  not  talk  too  fast  nor  was 
she  silent  through  too  long  intervals.  Adrane, 
under  her  spell,  sat  as  if  he  were  dumb. 

282 


Merrilie  Dawes 

When  dinner  was  again  announced  it  was  near- 
ing  ten  o'clock.  As  Adrane  seated  Merrilie  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  the  most  care-free  of  smiles 
and  her  eyes  followed  him  joyously  until  he  looked 
again  at  her  across  the  table  after  he  had  been 
seated  himself. 

But  Adrane,  eying  Merrilie  like  a  man  in  a 
trance,  shook  his  head  irresolutely.  "This  is  a 
queer  business,"  he  remarked.  "My  head  is 
thumping  so  I  don't  really  know  what  I'm  doing." 

"It's  not  at  all  necessary  you  should.  I'll  keep 
track  of  you " 

"You  certainly  are  kind." 

"Whereabouts  are  Annie  and  her  mother?" 

"In  Berlin,  I  think,  with  Mrs.  Havens.  If 
everybody  down-town  hadn't  been  so  kind,  Mer- 
rilie, I  shouldn't  dread  to-morrow  so  much." 

"Don't  dread  to-morrow.  Your  friends  won't 
bother  you  after  to-morrow — with  kindness  or 
anything  else — you'll  be  freed  at  once  from  all 
obligation." 

"I  know  that,  too.  But  the  way  they  have 
stood  by  me!" 

"Who?" 

"That's  the  queer  part  of  it.  I  don't  know 
exactly  who  they  are.  Again  and  again  in  the  last 
two  weeks  some  one  has  stood  under  the  market 
till  I  could  get  a  breath.  It  took  such  a  stack  of 

283 


Merrilie  Dawes 

money.  When  a  man's  friends  back  him  in  that 
way,  Merrilie — my  God!  it  cuts  to  let  them 
down " 

"It  wasn't  your  fault  that  a  money  panic  struck 
the  country,  was  it?"  demanded  Merrilie  tartly. 
"John!  taste  your  clams,  why  don't  you?  They 
are  Crossrip  clams — don't  you  remember  the  fuss 
you  used  to  make  about  them?" 

"Go  ahead — don't  mind  me." 

"I  won't  go  ahead,"  declared  Merrilie  flatly. 
"I  won't  touch  one  single  morsel  until  you  do." 

Her  resolve  extorted  a  feeble  smile.  He  took 
a  clam  upon  his  fork.  "Here's  for  a  Crossrip 
clam." 

"Here's  for  another!  The  hydrangeas,"  sighed 
Merrilie,  "must  be  gorgeous  on  the  terraces 
now " 

"As  late  as  this?" 

"They  are  weeks  behind  New  York.  Do  you 
remember  the  marvellous  blues?" 

"I  like  the  pinks." 

"Contrary,  as  usual." 

She  left  him  no  time  to  think.  Only  when 
the  wine  was  served  did  she  falter  near  to  the 
serious.  She  asked  Adrane  to  toast  her  father. 
And  it  was  then  he  who  talked — Merrilie  was 
silent. 

"Merrilie?"  he  remarked  toward  the  end  of  the 
284 


Merrilie  Dawes 

hour.  She  waited  for  him  to  proceed.  "  You  said 
you  had  a  special  reason  for  asking  me  to  dine  with 
you  to-night." 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  it  is. 
Yes,  I  will,  too.  You  are  my  last  guest,  John,  at 
this  table." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  am  entertaining  to-night  in  my  home  and 
my  father's  home  for  the  last  time." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mr.  Charles  Kimberly  is  now  the  owner  of  this 
house." 

Adrane  arrested  his  fork.  "You  have  sold  your 
home!" 

Merrilie  made  an  expressive  face.  "I  held  out 
against  the  inroads  of  business  as  long  as  I  pos- 
sibly couldv  They  are  already  tearing  down  the 
old  residences  in  the  next  block.  In  another  month 
there  will  be  a  twenty-story  steel  skeleton  going 
up  there.  What  is  the  use?  This  had  to  go 
some  time.  They  pay  for  it  in  cash —  There  is  a 
reason  for  my  telling  you,  John.  It  explains  why 
I  happen  to  have  a  good  deal  of  ready  money. 
And  I  want  you  to  take  one  million  of  it  your- 
self to  do  exactly  what  you  please  with." 

"I  would  not  take  one  cent  of  it  under  any 
condition." 

"You  could  pay  me  back  when  you  pleased." 
285 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Dismiss  it  from  your  mind." 

"I  should  not  care,  I  tell  you,  if  you  never  paid 
me  back,  John." 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "Please  forget 
it,  Merrilie." 

"Take  half  of  it,  John.  You  know  perfectly 
well" — she  dwelt  on  her  words — "I  should  never 
even  miss  it!" 

"And  I  tell  you  that  every  one  of  your  million 
dollars  would  be  a  million  tongues  to  cry  out 
against  me  if  I  touched  a  penny  of  your  money, 
Merrilie.  I  could  not  do  it.  Don't  suggest  it. 
Don't  think  I  don't  understand,  don't  appreciate; 
but,  Merrilie" — he  almost  rose  to  his  feet — "if  I 
say  more  I  shall  forget  myself." 

She  laughed  at  the  little  storm.  He  made  her 
promise  to  stop,  and  she  promised.  Half  delirious 
herself  with  excitement,  she  picked  up  her  wine- 
glass. "John,  shall  we  drink  one  toast  to  the  old 
home?"  " 

"The  old  home!"  he  echoed.  His  eyes  rose  to 
the  ceiling.  "What  a  glorious  old  home!  The 
stateliest,  loveliest  old  home  I've  ever  known. 
The  dearest  old  home  opened  to  me  in  all  my 
life— 

"Stop!"  The  word  was  as  stifled  as  a  cry. 
Kennedy  re-entered  the  room.  Adrane  looked, 
amazed,  across  at  Merrilie.  "You  are — too — too 

286 


Merrilie  Dawes 

— eloquent,"  she  tried  to  say  coherently,  clutching 
her  wine-glass  as  she  fought  for  words.  "Drink 
with  me,  Mr.  Adrane,  to  the  old  home — in  si- 
lence." 

He  did  not  speak  until  they  were  again  alone. 
"Merrilie,"  he  said,  "I  never  saw  you  wrought 
up  before  in  this  way — why  did  you  stop  me 
like  that?  I'm  an  idiot,  I  know,  but  I'm  not 
eloquent." 

"Forgive  my  abruptness.  But  the  servants 
don't  know  the  house  is  sold.  I  want  to  break 
the  news  in  my  own  way." 

"I  understand.  Well,  Merrilie,  you  are  the 
most  sensible,  level-headed — the  cleverest  woman 
I  ever  met  in  my  life " 

"That  will  be  enough  for  the  vintage  of  1893," 
she  laughed  with  a  note  of  recklessness. 

"But  that's  where  I  am  a  fool,"  he  went  on. 
"I  never  could  have  done  it." 

"Done  what?" 

"Sold  the  old  house." 

Merrilie's  eyes  were  quite  steady  as  she  regarded 
him:  "Oh,  yes,  you  could,  John — under  certain 
combinations  of  circumstances.  Yes,  you  could. 
If  you  couldn't — under  the  necessary  circum- 
stances— you  are  not  the  John  Adrane  I  take  you 
for.  And  I  don't  often  make  mistakes  about 
men." 

287 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"You  never  made  a  bigger  one  in  your  life  than 
when  you  gave  me  credit  for  knowing  anything. 
But,  Merrilie" — Adrane's  hand,  with  some  of  the 
emphasis  of  Richard  Dawes's  wine  in  it,  fell  on  the 
table  rather  heavily — "this  home  has  given  me 
a  friendship — a  lovely  woman's  friendship — that 
I  value  more  than  everything  on  earth  except 
my  bankrupt  honor.  I've  never  had  a  chance  to 
talk  to  you,  Merrilie,  to  be  natural  with  you.  I've 
been  in  a  false  position,  and  it  seems  as  if  you  and 
everybody  else  have  sort  of  combined  to  hold  me 
in  it.  But  the  unpleasant  truth  is  that  Annie  and 
I  have  as  little  in  common  as  the  two  poles.  And 
our  dissimilarities  are  as  certain  to  part  us  as  the 
sun  is  to  rise  to-morrow.  And  I  am  going  to  say 
this  now — ruined,  down  and  out,  and  lacking  the 
right  to  say  anything  to  anybody — if  I  never  say 
another  word  on  earth:  I'd  rather  touch  the  hem 
of  your  garment  with  my  lips  than  marry  all  the 
women  I've  ever  seen  in  the  world." 

Merrilie's  smiling  eyes  held  in  check  the  tumult 
in  her  heart.  "Gracious,  but  you're  excited  to- 
night," she  laughed.  "And  so  extraordinarily 
kind!  How  does  it  seem  to  be  ruined,  John?" 
He  regarded  almost  with  horror  her  lack  of 
sympathy  and  understanding.  "I  don't  believe 
it's  any  worse  than  getting  into  the  surf  at  Cross- 
rips,"  Merrilie  went  on,  unabashed.  "Once  you're 

288 


Merrilie  Dawes 

under  you're  all  right,"  she  declared,  rising  and 
leading  the  way  back  into  the  library. 

"I  hope  to  God,"  he  said  moodily,  following, 
"you'll  never  know  how  it  feels." 

"All  I  mean  is,  John,  don't  take  it  too  seriously. 
Money  isn't  all  of  life." 

"It  isn't  the  money.  Oh,  can't  you  under- 
stand ?"  he  added  harshly.  "While  we  are  talking, 
Hamersley's  messengers  are  this  minute  running 
over  town  calling  my  principal  creditors  together. 
I  am  to  meet  them  at  his  house  at  twelve  o'clock 
to-night.  The  humiliation,  the  disgrace,  Merrilie! 
I'm  sick  of  the  world." 

Merrilie  pointed  toward  the  divan.  "John,  sit 
down  here  one  moment."  He  did  as  she  bade  him 
and,  leaning  forward  in  his  dejection,  supported 
his  head  upon  his  two  hands.  Merrilie,  her  own 
hands  folded  in  her  lap,  took  her  place  on  the  edge 
of  a  seat  close  beside  him.  "I  am  going  to  talk 
very  plainly  to  you,"  she  said  decidedly.  "I 
don't  understand  exactly  just  what  has  happened 
in  your  affairs;  but  you  have  lost  all  of  your 
money— 

"All  of  mine  and  some  few  millions  more." 

"You  have  done  nothing  dishonorable — 

"That's  not  it " 

"But  having  lost  all  your  money,  'and  some  few 
millions  more,'  makes  your  whole  sea  of  troub- 
les- 

289 


Merrilie  Dawes 

He  jerked  his  head  savagely.  "Great  God! 
isn't  that  enough?" 

"Not  so  loud.  Enough,  yes;  but,  John  Ad- 
rane — not  too  much.  John  Adrane,  you  have 
health  yet,  strength  yet,  energy  yet,  capability 
— youth.  And  with  all  these  treasures,  you  talk 
to-night  about  being  ruined  and  down  and  out." 

He  stared  at  the  rug,  but  Merrilie,  without  the 
slightest  agitation,  spoke  on.  "You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself.  John  Adrane,"  she  said 
severely,  "if  I  had  just  your  earning  power  I 
should  think  myself  rich.  You  have  lost  your 
money;  you  can  make  more.  You  think  yourself 
the  most  wretched  creature  in  the  world.  Sup- 
pose a  woman  were  to  lose  all  of  her  means — 
suppose  I  were  to  lose  everything  I  had,  and 
did  not  know  how  to  earn  a  single  dollar — such 
a  one  might  well  call  herself  ruined,  mightn't  she? 
I  might  well  call  myself  ruined,  mightn't  I? 
Answer  me." 

"What's  the  use  of  supposing  an  absurdity!" 

"But  answer  me,"  she  persisted. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said. 

"You  know  so.  And  you  are  worrying  yourself 
sick  about  meeting  some  of  your  creditors  to- 
night. You  are  going  there  to  tell  them  openly 
you  are  ruined  and  to  act  as  if  you  would  jump 
into  the  East  River  if  anybody  took  it  into  his 
head  to  suggest  it.  Banish  all  that  from  your 

290 


Merrilie  Dawes 

mind.    You  are  not  ruined;  you  are,  at  the  worst, 
embarrassed — nothing  more." 

"It's  a  little  more  than  that,  Merrilie,"  he 
amended  dryly.  "I  am  damnably  embarrassed." 

"Call  it  that  here,  if  you  like.  But  listen  to 
what  I  tell  you.  Whatever  you  do,  make  no 
apologies.  All  men  that  risk  money  must  calcu- 
late on  losing  money.  Stand  up  to  the  situation 
and  face  every  side  of  it.  Answer  every  question 
boldly.  What  have  you  to  fear?  Hasn't  the 
worst  come?" 

"It  has." 

"Then  from  this  instant  better  begins." 

Looking  silently  into  her  eyes,  his  own  express- 
ing eloquent  admiration,  Adrane  took  her  hands. 
He  spoke  but  one  word:  "Merrilie!" 

With  a  laugh  she  dragged  her  hands  free.  "You 
are  going  to  an  angry  creditors'  meeting,  aren't 
you?  Very  well.  Be  defiant  as  a  lion,  collected 
as  a  bear,  sulky  as  a  cow." 

Without  realizing  it  they  had  risen  to  their  feet. 
"I  suppose,"  he  suggested  grimly,  "I'm  to  do  it 
just  as  you're  doing  it  now?" 

Merrilie  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height.  "Pre- 
cisely," she  answered  proudly,  "as  I  am  doing  it. 
now.  Put  'ruin'  and  the  idea  of  'ruin*  out  of 
your  head.  An  embarrassment,  even  of  millions, 
is  not  ruin,  by  a  long  shot." 

291 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Looking  at  each  other,  they  were  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Adrane  drew  a  breath  that 
seemed  to  Merrilie  fathoms  deep.  With  his  eyes 
looking  down  into  hers  he  stretched  his  hands, 
without  speaking,  out  again  for  her  hands.  She 
drew  them  skilfully  behind  her  just  fast  enough 
to  evade  his  fingers.  He  stepped  closer.  "Give 
them  to  me  for  this  last  minute,  Merrilie.  I  know 
I've  no  business,  now,  saying  what  is  in  my  heart 
to  say,  even  in  this  complete  destruction  of  all  my 
hopes.  I  will  wait  to  say  that.  But,  Merrilie, 
I  am  going  to  face  things  exactly  as  you  tell  me." 
He  dared  say  no  more.  Merrilie  herself  was  at 
the  snapping-point.  He  took  his  leave.  When 
the  front  door  closed  Merrilie  went  back  to  the 
library,  mechanically  put  a  chair  into  its  place, 
and  stood  thinking.  Starting  from  her  revery, 
she  rearranged  the  pillows  in  the  divan  corner. 
Nothing  more  was  needed  to  restore  the  orderly 
quiet  of  the  room,  but  Merrilie  lingered.  Then 
she  started  to  go  up-stairs.  Something  halted 
her  again  on  the  threshold.  She  did  not  look 
back,  but  as  she  walked  out  of  the  room  she  put 
her  hands  to  her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 


292 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHAT  Adrane  had  told  Merrilie  was  quite 
true.  While  he  was  talking  in  her  library, 
automobiles  were  summoning  those  chiefly  inter- 
ested in  the  Adrane  pool  to  Amos  Hamersley's 
residence  in  Madison  Avenue  to  discuss  the  situ- 
ation as  affected  by  the  embarrassment  of  Adrane 
Brothers.  The  heat  of  the  autumn  night,  the 
prostration  of  the  great  city,  would,  it  might  seem, 
afford  the  privacy  necessary  to  the  gathering,  even 
from  the  newspapers.  But  so  guarded  was  the 
meeting  that  the  motor-cars  discharged  their  own- 
ers at  different  points  near  the  Hamersley  resi- 
dence, the  men  approaching  the  house  singly,  on 
foot. 

When  Henry  Benjamin,  summoned  from  his 
bed,  was  ushered  into  the  dimly  lighted  Hamers- 
ley hall  he  saw  a  dozen  men  chatting  in  three  or 
four  groups  about  the  room.  Some  were  sitting, 
some  standing,  most  of  them  smoking.  Some 
were  in  evening  dress,  others  belted  in  hot-weather 
negligee.  On  Benjamin's  heels,  John  Adrane  ar- 

293 


Merrilie  Dawes 

rived.  He  nodded  to  Benjamin  and  after  speak- 
ing with  him  crossed  the  room  to  where  Hamersley 
was  standing  with  Havens  and  David  Spruance, 
and  told  Hamersley  he  was  ready  to  confer  with 
those  present.  Hamersley  by  a  nod  indicated 
the  library  as  the  meeting-place.  Adrane  walked 
toward  it.  As  he  entered  the  room  two  life- 
size  companion  portraits  confronted  him  at  the 
farther  end.  Lighted  sharply  from  above,  they 
stood  out  of  the  dimness  with  almost  startling  dis- 
tinctness. One  was  the  portrait  of  Mary  Hamers- 
ley; the  other  of  Merrilie  Dawes.  Merrilie  was 
standing  between  portieres  as  if  looking  into  the 
room,  and  to  Adrane  her  eyes  seemed  to  fall  with  a 
questioning  expectancy  on  him.  He  halted,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  this  delicate  girl  of  eighteen  look- 
ing so  gravely  at  him;  then,  advancing  slowly,  he 
took  a  chair  facing  her. 

The  diffused  light  of  the  ceiling  dome,  lighted  a 
moment  later,  fell  on  a  group  of  notable  faces  clus- 
tered about  the  long  table.  They  were  the  faces 
of  men  hardened  to  difficult  situations  and  set 
to  meet  ordinary  shock  or  tumult  without  a 
tremor  or  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid,  but  to-night 
they  were  plainly  on  edge.  Henry  Kneeland,  rep- 
resentative of  the  Standard  Oil  interests,  square- 
browed,  taciturn,  even-tempered,  sat  formally  be- 
side Arthur  More,  his  associate,  and  Adrane's  own 

294 


Merrilie  Dawes 

directing  broker.  Willis  McCrea,  in  all  emer- 
gency conferences  charged  with  the  views  of  the 
sugar  people,  had  taken  his  place  near  More,  and  in 
the  grave  circumstances  to-night  Hamilton,  their 
banker  and  the  chairman  of  the  clearing-house 
committee,  had  come,  and  was  talking  in  low  tones 
to  David  Spruance,  director  in  a  group  of  banks 
known  as  Wall  Street  institutions  and  an  intimate 
of  Amos  Hamersley's — reticent  as  always  and 
courting  silence.  From  the  seashore,  summoned 
hurriedly,  Harry  Drake,  the  roi  faineant  of  the 
insurance  companies  and  their  allied  trust  com- 
panies, had  come  to  take  his  place  under  the  wing 
of  Benedict  R.  Havens.  Havens  himself,  restless 
and  vigorous,  listened  to  incidental  asides  from 
Markover,  of  the  board  of  governors  of  the  stock 
exchange,  and  leaned  in  deferential  intervals  to- 
ward Harry  Drake  with  brief  suggestion  or  answer. 

Either  by  accident  or  because  others  avoided 
the  distinction,  Henry  Benjamin,  who  better  than 
any  other  voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  Waldorf 
crowd,  had  taken  the  seat  next  the  foot  of  the  table 
where,  in  lonely  eminence,  John  Adrane  had  chosen 
his  chair  somewhat  back  from  the  end  of  the  table 
itself. 

"John,"  observed  Benjamin,  leaning  toward  Ad- 
rane, his  keen  eyes  peering  over  his  glasses,  "  this 
looks  to  me  more  like  a  coroner's  inquest  than  a 

295 


Merrilie  Dawes 

financial    conference.      Look    at    Havens's  face. 
And  see  the  way  he's  filling  up  Drake." 

Adrane's  lips  returned  a  shadow  of  a  smile.  "If 
it's  an  inquest,  Henry,  you  are  sitting  pretty  close 
to  the  corpse." 

"What?"  demanded  Benjamin.  "It  isn't  really 
you,  John?" 

"An  impression  to  that  effect  is  abroad, 
Henry." 

"You  don't  look  like  a  mark  for  the  undertaker 
yet." 

"I  don't  feel  like  one,  either,  Henry." 

Hamersley's  voice  interrupted  the  talk  about 
the  table.  "Gentlemen,  our  interests  in  the  Steel 
pool  call  for  attention.  John  Adrane  as  the  party 
most  at  interest  tells  me  Adrane  Brothers  are 
overloaded.  Mr.  John  Adrane  himself  is  with 
us." 

All  faces  were  turned  on  Adrane.  "There  is  lit- 
tle to  tell,"  he  said  slowly,  "except  that  stock  has 
come  on  us  faster  than  we  can  take  care  of  it. 
The  money  market  has  hurt  us.  We  may  have  to 
close  out  our  trades  to-morrow." 

"Adrane  Brothers  busted!"  echoed  Benjamin, 
looking  incredulously  from  one  to  another  around 
the  table.  "What  will  happen  when  the  boys  get 
that!"  No  one  answered.  Amos  Hamersley  looked 
glum. 

296 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"What  will  happen  when  London  gets  that!'* 
intoned  Benjamin. 

"Why,  Adrane,"  exclaimed  Drake  insolently, 
"you  told  me  there  was  plenty  of  money  in  sight 
to  put  this  deal  through." 

"It  was  thirty  days  ago,  Drake,  that  you  talked 
with  me,"  replied  Adrane.  "It  was  you" — he 
leaned  forward — "who  asked  me  where  the  money 
was  coming  from.  I  told  you  that  you  had  the 
same  sources  of  information  I  had."  He  waved  his 
hand  toward  Kneeland,  McCrea,  and  Hamersley. 
"And  it  was  you  who  said  that  meant  plenty  of 
money." 

"Well,  if  there  was  plenty  of  money,"  persisted 
Drake,  "what  are  you  lying  down  for?" 

"Because  there's  no  money  now  at  any  price." 

"Drake,"  snapped  McCrea,  "if  you  would  stay 
in  town,  instead  of  running  your  business  from 
the  deck  of  a  racing  yacht,  you'd  know  where  the 
money  was  thirty  days  ago  and  where  it  is  now." 

"Gently,  McCrea,"  remonstrated  Hamersley. 

McCrea  refused  to  be  silenced.  "It  makes  me 
weary  to  hear  such  talk.  Neither  the  city  nor 
the  country  is  in  shape  to  stand  a  Wall  Street 
panic.  The  question  is  what  to  do."  f 

"The  question  is,"  blurted  Benjamin,  taking  the 
words  from  the  sugar  magnate's  mouth,  "where  is 
all  this  stock  coming  from?  That's  the  first  ques- 

297 


Merrilie  Dawes 

tion  we  want  answered.  Where  has  it  been  coming 
from?  Where  will  it  be  coming  from  to-morrow 
morning?  Who  in  this  room  is  selling  Steel?" 

"Hang  it,  Benjamin,"  snapped  McCrea  again, 
his  jaws  closing  like  a  steel  trap,  "we  are  gentle- 
men here.  Do  you  think  7  have  been  unloading  on 
you — or  Hamersley?" 

Benjamin  sprang  up  in  his  chair.  "Not  for  one 
moment,  Mr.  McCrea,  neither  of  you — acquit  me 
of  that,  if  you  please,"  he  insisted,  with  emphasis 
on  every  word.  "But " 

"Then  what  are  you  talking  about?"  thundered 
McCrea. 

"You'd  a  good  deal  better  figure  out  what  is 
to  be  done  to-morrow,"  said  Havens,  addressing 
Benjamin. 

"You  keep  still,  Havens,"  cried  Benjamin,  sha- 
king his  finger  at  him  pugnaciously. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Havens,  starting 
up  in  turn. 

"Mr.  McCrea,"  stammered  Drake,  "my  busi- 
ness shows  quite  as  successful  results  from  my 
attention  as  the  sugar  business  shows  from 
yours — "  The  rest  of  his  words  were  lost  in 
the  confusion.  Benjamin  and  Havens  stood  ges- 
ticulating at  each  other  across  the  table.  Drake, 
white  with  anger,  confronted  the  choleric  McCrea. 
Hamersley  tried  to  hear  what  Markover  was  say- 

298 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ing  to  Kneeland  and  himself.  Adrane,  flushed, 
and  with  perspiration  beading  his  forehead  in  the 
muggy  heat,  sat  in  a  dogged  silence,  the  most 
unconcerned  of  the  conference. 

"Sit  down,"  roared  David  Spruance,  "every- 
body!" 

Hamersley  pounded  the  table  with  a  ruler. 
"Gentlemen,"  he  commanded  in  stentorian  tones, 
"stop  this  squabbling.  Listen  to  what  Mr.  Mark- 
over  is  saying,  will  you?" 

The  angry  voices  ceased.  "It's  not  what  I'm 
saying,  it's  what  I'm  discussing,"  explained  Mark- 
over.  "Mr.  Drake  has  asked  whether  the  stock 
exchange  ought  to  open  to-morrow  morning." 

The  inquiry  let  loose  a  flood  of  suggestions. 
Markover  turned  to  Adrane.  "You  say  you 
may  have  to  announce  your  suspension  to-morrow. 
Do  you  mean  you  will  have  to?" 

"It  is  practically  certain  we  can't  get  through 
to-morrow." 

"Why  did  you  wait  till  the  last  minute  before 
telling  us?"  demanded  Drake. 

"I  was  under  no  obligation  to  advise  you, 
Drake.  Mr.  Hamersley,  Mr.  McCrea,  and  Mr. 
Kneeland  have  seen  our  balance-sheet  every  day 
for  a  week." 

"Haven't  people  been  lending  you  money  every 
day?"  demanded  Drake. 

299 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane  eyed  him  composedly.  "Against  Steel 
pledged  every  day." 

"What  is  Steel  good  for  directly  you  suspend? 
Why  didn't  you  give  us  a  chance?" 

Adrane,  drawing  closer  to  the  table,  pushed  a 
book  from  in  front  of  him.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  mean.  I  may  as  well  say  to  the  whole  con- 
ference what  I  say  to  you— 

"You  should  have  said  it  all  sooner,"  com- 
plained Drake  petulantly. 

"The  banks,  at  least,  were  entitled  to  some 
warning — "  interposed  Havens. 

"No,"  protested  Kneeland.  "This  puts  every- 
body on  the  same  basis." 

"It's  not  a  case  of  women  and  children  first, 
Havens,"  put  in  Benjamin. 

"Nobody  will  lose  a  dollar  through  us,"  insisted 
Adrane.  "We  shall  pay  every  cent;  but  we  can't 
do  it  to-morrow." 

"Ought  the  exchange  to  be  opened  to-morrow," 
demanded  Drake,  "or  closed  for  a  brief  interval 
until  we  can  find  ourselves?" 

"Open  it,"  rejoined  McCrea  savagely. 

"No,"  insisted  Drake.  "Not  for  two  or  three 
days,  anyway." 

Benjamin  rose.  "Gentlemen,  the  New  York 
Stock  Exchange  is  not  an  association  of  pikers. 
It  is  not  a  life-boat  proposition.  It  invites  the 

300 


Merrilie  Dawes 

confidence  of  the  world  as  one  of  its  own  financial 
corner-stones.  To  close  it  for  one  hour  is  to  put 
your  credit,  your  banks,  and  your  city  back  fifty 
years.  It  is  to  put  a  full-grown  man  into  a  cradle 
with  pap  for  nourishment.  Adrane  Brothers  are 
busted.  Very  well.  Open  your  stock  exchange 
doors  and  let  the  liquidation  take  its  course.  But 
don't  play  the  baby  with  London,  Paris,  Frank- 
fort, and  Berlin  looking  on.  The  man  doesn't  sit 
here  to-night  that  will  live  long  enough  to  see  the 
damage  of  such  a  mistake  repaired." 

Harry  Drake  turned  on  Adrane.  "What  are 
your  liabilities?"  He  did  not  spare  the  insolence 
of  the  creditor  in  his  tone. 

"My  brother  and  his  accountants  are  working 
on  the  books,"  answered  Adrane.  "I  can't  tell 
you  at  this  moment." 

"I  never  could  see  what  a  man  wants  to  bull  a 
market  for  without  knowing  exactly  what  he  has 
got  to  take  care  of,"  observed  Drake.  "That's  the 
mystery  of  it.  Haven't  you  any  idea  of  where 
you  stand,  Adrane?"  he  persisted. 

Adrane,  answering  half  a  dozen  questions  at 
once,  kept  his  head  and  his  tongue.  "I  have  an 
idea,  of  course,  where  we  stand,"  he  responded. 
"But  I  won't  hazard  a  guess  at  what  we  owe  or 
whom  we  owe.  I  repeat,  you  will  none  of  you 
lose  your  money.  We  will  pay  what  we  owe;  we 

301 


Merrilie  Dawes 

can't  do  it  now.  I  am  crippled  temporarily  and, 
having  apprised  those  most  interested  in  our 
affairs  that  we  are  seriously  involved,  my  duty 
is  done.  If  I  can  be  of  no  further  service  to  you, 
I  bid  you  good  night." 

"Tut,  John,"  interposed  Amos  Hamersley. 
"Don't  get  mad.  Sit  down." 

"It's  a  hot  night,"  said  Benjamin,  rising. 

Adrane  paused  on  his  way  to  the  door.  "If 
I  can  answer  any  reasonable  question  for  any- 
body, I  am  here  to  do  so."  He  paused  a  moment. 
No  one  offered  an  inquiry.  "If  not,  good 
night." 

Hamersley  followed  him  into  the  hall.  The 
others,  talking  in  twos  and  threes,  rose,  drifted 
after  them,  and  there,  about  Adrane,  the  talk  began 
all  over  again.  Benjamin  left  the  house  first.  As  he 
passed  through  the  door  he  looked  back.  Adrane 
stood  confronted  by  a  semicircle  of  questioners. 
He  was  near  a  portrait  of  Amos  Hamersley  and  the 
light  on  the  picture  fell  also  on  Adrane.  His  hair 
was  tumbled  and  his  collar  wilted.  The  questions 
hurled  at  him  by  his  tormentors  compelled  him  to 
face  and  answer  them  all  at  once.  He  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  wall,  but  his  dull  eyes  did  not 
flinch  before  angry  inquiries,  and  if  his  answers 
were  deliberate  they  were  collected. 

"You  shall  all  have  your  money,"  he  repeated 
302 


'You  shall  all  have  your  money,"  he  repeated  unwaver- 
ingly and  without  emotion.     "In  time  I 
will  pay  you  every  dollar." 


Merrilie  Dawes 

unwaveringly  and  without  emotion.     "In  time  I 
will  pay  you  every  dollar." 

Merrilie  had  a  recital  of  it  from  Benjamin 
hardly  an  hour  later.  It  was  after  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning  when  she  was  aroused  by  Rose. 
Henry  Benjamin,  who  had  secured  entrance  after 
extraordinary  efforts,  waited  down-stairs,  and 
greeted  Merrilie  on  her  appearance  only  with 
the  apology  that  for  financiers,  whether  men  or 
women,  distinctions  between  night  and  day  were 
not  always  possible. 

"I  had  to  see  you  to-night.  Adrane  Brothers 
have  failed,"  he  announced  bluntly.  He  was 
standing  almost  precisely  where  John  Adrane  had 
stood  two  hours  earlier. 

"I  know,"  responded  Merrilie  to  his  words. 

Benjamin  started.    "You  know?" 

Merrilie  followed  her  blunder  with  composed 
deceit.  "I  felt  they  must  have,  Mr.  Benjamin. 
Has  the  failure  been  announced  ?  Tell  me." 

She  listened  with  an  attention  that  measured 
every  word  of  his  story  and  lost  no  inference  from 
his  intonation  and  manner  of  telling  it.  Not 
until  he  had  done  did  she  begin  her  questions.  But 
when  she  had  finished  them  there  was  no  more  to 
be  disclosed  unless  Benjamin  could  have  called  on 
his  imagination  for  details.  Merrilie  asked  even 
of  Adrane's  words  and  of  his  manner. 

303 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  give  him  credit,"  confessed  the  cynical  bro- 
ker. "His  nerve  is  good.  I've  seen  many  men  on 
the  rack,  but  I  never  saw  one,  with  the  ropes 
straining,  that  kept  himself  better  in  hand.  I 
hand  it  to  him." 

"I  like  a  game  loser,"  said  Merrilie  slowly. 

"We  haven't  time  to  think  about  game  losers — 
we  must  pull  for  shore,  if  there  is  any  shore  left. 
It  will  be  something  fierce  down  there  to-morrow 
morning." 

"What  do  you  propose,  Mr.  Benjamin?" 

"Sell,  sell,  sell — and  charge  all  to  Adrane 
Brothers." 

"No;  at  least,  not  for  my  account.  I  won't  sell 
a  share  of  Steel  myself.  I  am  satisfied  with  my 
investment.  I  will  keep  it." 

He  looked  at  her  dumfounded.  "Sell  as  much 
as  you  like  for  your  own  account,"  she  said  firmly, 
"but  not  a  share  for  mine."  He  attempted  an  in- 
articulate protest.  "I  am  absolutely  decided  on 
that,"  she  added,  silencing  him.  "But " 

"But  what?"  he  demanded. 

"The  minute  the  suspension  is  announced  on 
the  floor,  buy." 

Benjamin  could  only  stare.    "Not  Steel?" 

"Yes,  Steel.  When  the  worst  comes,  and  not 
till  it  comes,  begin  to  buy,  and  buy  Steel  as  long 
as  my  Kimberly  money  lasts." 

304 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"No,  no." 

"Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Benjamin,"  insisted  Merrilie 
with  irritation. 

"It  would  be  suicide "  cried  Benjamin. 

"Call  it  what  you  like.     Do  as  I  direct." 

The  broker  jumped  from  his  chair.  "I  can't 
take  orders  that  will  absolutely  ruin  you.  I 
won't." 

She  faced  him  undaunted.  "Take  exactly  the 
orders  I  give  you,  Mr.  Benjamin." 

"You  ask  me  what  I  cannot  and  what  I  never 
will  do  for  a  child  of  your  father." 

Merrilie  blazed.  "I  am  my  father,"  she  cried 
angrily.  "Obey  my  orders  as  you  obeyed  his. 
It  is  not  for  you  to  tell  me  what  to  do.  I  tell 
you  what  to  do." 

Grasping  with  one  hand  the  back  of  his  chair, 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  her.  Merrilie  watched  his 
set  mouth  and  stood  unmoved  as  he  shook  his 
head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 

He  realized  that  if  he  refused  she  could  find 
others  to  do  what  she  ordered,  and  he  sat  down 
and  tried  to  argue.  He  begged  her  to  be  reason- 
able— to  listen  to  him  as  her  father's  trusted 
agent  who  had,  in  this  crash  which  would  involve 
he  knew  not  how  many  in  ruin  before  another 
sunset,  only  her  interest  at  heart.  He  warned 
her  what  she  insisted  on  doing  would  reduce  her 

305 


Merrilie  Dawes 

to  beggary:  that  a  receivership  for  Adrane's  steel 
companies  was  inevitable — that  her  enormous 
holdings  would  in  ten  hours  be  worth  lessT  than 
the  paper  on  which  the  certificates  were  printed. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  repeated  Merrilie 
for  the  twentieth  time.  "Do  precisely  as  I  direct. 
If  I  am  to  be  a  beggar  I  will  be  one.  I  won't 
deviate.  I  have  heard  you  and  I  will  discuss  this 
no  longer.  It  isn't  fair  for  you  to  keep  on." 

Benjamin  took  up  his  hat.  He  looked  old  and 
careworn.  His  eyes  fixed  on  her  hopelessly.  Mer- 
rilie was  sorry  for  him.  "Under  protest,"  he  said 
distinctly,  "I  follow  your  instructions.  I  do  it 
because  you  know,  and  I  know,  others  will  do  it 
if  I  refuse;  and  I  can  do  it  best.  But  if  you  lose 
every  dollar  you  have" — he  put  forth  his  hands 
prophetically — "hold  me  blameless." 

"I  shall  blame  no  one.  I  went  into  this  with 
my  eyes  open.  I  believe  thoroughly  in  this  prop- 
erty and  in  the  men  that  are  back  of  it—  He 
drew  back  in  consternation.  "Yes,  I  do,"  she 
repeated,  strained  with  excitement.  "And  I  will 
risk  my  fortune  on  the  conviction  I  am  right." 

Benjamin  strode  toward  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  he  turned  to  say  the  good  night  that 
courtesy  required.  Merrilie  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  She  looked  to  him,  in  her  tenacity 
of  purpose,  so  frail,  so  fixed,  so  unyielding,  yet  so 

306 


Merrilie  Dawes 

alone.  The  very  atmosphere  of  the  night,  charged 
with  the  sense  of  impending  catastrophe,  she  faced 
without  flinching.  Benjamin,  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  walked  abruptly  back  and  held  out  both 
his  hands.  "Good  night,  Miss  Merrilie."  She 
put  her  hands  in  his.  "Good  night,"  he  repeated, 
vigorously.  "I  will  do  the  best  I  can." 

She  watched  him  leave  the  room  and  heard  the 
door  of  the  vestibule  close.  Breathing  less  con- 
strainedly, she  raised  her  handkerchief  and  wiped 
the  cold  moisture  from  above  her  lips.  She  clasped 
one  hand  within  the  other.  Both  were  like  ice. 
Sinking  on  the  divan,  she  put  them  to  her  throb- 
bing temples.  It  seemed  as  if  her  heart  would 
burst  in  its  labored  beating.  For  a  long  time  she 
sat  with  her  head  bowed.  A  cough  from  Kennedy, 
discreetly  passing  in  the  hall,  brought  her  to  her- 
self, and,  rising,  she  smilingly  bade  him  good 
night  and  walked  slowly  up-stairs. 


30" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  gong  sounded  and  Steel  began  pouring 
on  the  market.  The  bigger  posts  on  the 
exchange  that  morning  held  their  accustomed 
groups  of  brokers  only  for  a  time.  The  idlers  fol- 
lowed the  crowd  to  the  Steel  post.  It  was  ru- 
mored and  denied  that  the  big  house  which  earlier 
had  stood  fast  under  floods  of  the  stock  had  gone 
over  to  the  enemy;  but  within  a  few  moments 
the  uncertainty  was  ended  and  it  was  known  up 
and  down  the  Street  that  Benjamin  &  Company 
were  selling  Steel. 

In  the  Steel  ring  a  mob  of  excited  men  crowded 
together  and  a  storm  of  offerings  swept  the  few 
scattering  buyers  off  their  feet.  Prices  dropped 
by  leaps  and  bounds.  A  frenzy  of  selling  drove 
the  stock  down  thirty  points.  Each  lull,  as  news 
of  the  panic  spread  over  the  city,  was  followed  by 
new  and  immeasurable  confusion  marked  by  even 
more  violent  recessions. 

The  remainder  of  the  market,  demoralized  in 
sympathy,  added  to  the  confusion.  Rumors  of 

308 


Merrilie  Dawes 

disaster  impending  in  every  direction  met  with 
only  half-hearted  denials.  Men,  breathless  and 
livid,  struggled  about  the  Steel  post  roaring  fresh 
offers  without  finding  takers  to  stem  the  headlong 
drop  in  prices.  With  eleven  o'clock  came  an  in- 
terval in  which  anxious  glances  were  cast  toward 
the  rostrum,  but  no  announcement  came.  More 
&  Kneeland  were  forcing  the  market  further  and 
further  down,  and  nailing  the  faintest  bid  from  any 
quarter  at  any  price,  when  the  crack  of  the  presi- 
dent's gavel  rang  from  the  pillar  and  Markover, 
calling  for  silence,  announced  the  suspension  of 
Adrane  Brothers.  The  gavel  fell  again.  It  was 
no  longer  a  market;  it  was  a  pandemonium.  In 
the  din  of  yelling  and  struggling,  men  tore  their 
way  by  main  strength  into  the  frantic,  swaying 
jam  or  staggered,  white  and  dazed,  out  of  it,  glaring 
at  questioners  without  answers.  The  first  quo- 
tation on  Steel  after  the  announcement  of  the  sus- 
pension was  recorded  sixty  points  lower  with  the 
entire  market  in  a  violent  decline.  Reports  of  a 
receivership  for  the  Adrane  steel  companies  gained 
and  lost  ground  as  the  stock,  now  in  the  gutter  of 
values,  declined  and  reacted.  Half  an  hour  before 
the  closing  it  became  definitely  known  to  a  few  of 
the  bear  leaders  that  a  receiver  for  all  of  Adrane's 
companies  had  already  been  asked,  and,  it  was 
said,  by  a  large  life-insurance  society.  The  stock 

309 


Merrilie  Dawes 

could  hardly  suffer  more  of  obloquy — spurned  even 
by  petty  traders  and  tossed  like  a  football  about 
the  floor  of  the  exchange,  it  receded  to  the  depths 
of  utter  contempt  and  ridicule. 

But  at  each  fresh  disgrace  of  decline  it  was 
observed  by  a  few  that  its  offerings  found  un- 
expected takers.  New  brokers,  not  previously 
known  in  Steel,  now  began  working  their  way  to- 
ward the  post  and  buying  at  the  bankrupt  prices. 
They  were  thought  at  first  to  be  floor  traders 
who  as  hardened  speculators  take  up  market  junk 
after  it  has  been  rejected  by  reputable  houses. 
But  the  new  buying  began  to  reach  an  unex- 
pected volume. 

Floor  spies  from  Benjamin's  own  office  were 
the  first  to  discover  a  definite  and  concerted  buy- 
ing movement  in  opposition  to  their  own.  Word 
went  instantly  to  Henry  Benjamin  that  Macy  & 
Handy  and  Crooks  &  Overholt  were  taking  all  the 
Steel  offered,  and  scenting  a  mystery  he  awoke 
to  the  responsibility  of  his  own  situation.  Fresh 
buying  orders  were  placed  by  him  with  half  a 
dozen  houses,  and  to  the  confusion  of  an  already 
sensational  day  was  added  the  spectacle,  in  the 
closing  moments,  of  a  scramble  among  the  best- 
known  brokers  on  the  floor  to  secure  the  shares  of 
a  nominally  bankrupt  concern.  Shorts,  alarmed, 
likewise  tried  to  bid  in  their  commitments  only  to 

310 


Merrilie  Dawes 

find  the  newcomers  taking  the  offerings  away  from 
them. 

Emboldened  by  the  mysterious  movement,  a 
floating  speculative  contingent  began  buying  Steel. 
Competition,  concealed  at  first,  became  suddenly 
keen,  and  Crooks  &  Overholt  were  soon  openly 
pitted  against  all  buyers,  with  Benjamin's  brokers 
fighting  them  for  all  offerings. 

The  Overholt  contingent  pushed  the  price  reck- 
lessly up  by  quarters,  halves,  and  points,  but  Ben- 
jamin disputed  for  every  hundred  shares  that  came 
out,  and  following  Overholt's  open  offer  for  ten 
thousand  Steel  came  the  terrific  bid  of  Benjamin 
&  Company  for  any  part  of  one  hundred  thou- 
sand shares  a  full  point  higher.  The  stock,  which 
had  opened  in  the  morning  at  one  hundred  and 
thirty  and  sold  freely  at  six  and  seven  dollars 
during  the  panic  hour,  closed  in  a  new  fever  of 
excitement,  with  Benjamin  &  Company  taking 
every  share  about  the  post. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  action  by  the  associated 
banks,  the  co-operation  of  large  financial  interests 
in  the  Street,  the  deposit  in  New  York  by  the  gov- 
ernment of  substantial  Treasury  balances,  and  the 
friendly  attitude  of  strong  foreign  houses  com- 
bined to  relieve  the  strain  and  avert  further  panic. 

That  night  a  messenger  reached  John  Adrane's 
apartment,  and  standing  before  his  desk  Adrane 


Merrilie  Dawes 

tore  open  a  note  addressed  to  him  by  Merrilie. 
The  note  itself,  on  paper  bearing  her  monogram, 
was  neither  addressed  nor  signed. 

I  was  told  how  well  you  faced  your  ordeal  last  night.  I 
know  how  well  you  will  continue  to  face  it.  I  am  as  proud 
of  you  as  I  am  distressed  over  your  difficulties.  These,  be- 
lieve me,  will  come  out  right.  I  am  only  mortified  not  to 
be  in  a  position  to-night  myself  to  put  funds  at  your  imme- 
diate disposal.  I  never  have  been  really  greedy  for  money 
before  in  my  life.  I  do  want  it  now! 

The  paper  on  which  her  hand  had  rested 
seemed  to  exhale  a  fragrance.  He  held  it  a  mo- 
ment to  his  lips,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  confu- 
sion he  sat  down  and  wrote  an  answer. 

I  could  not  take  a  penny  of  money,  not  if  you  offered  me 
millions.  But  I  am  greedy  for  your  friendship  and  encour- 
agement. I  never  hungered  for  it  more  than  now.  For  one 
reason  I  am  glad  I  am  penniless — perhaps  some  day  I  can 
tell  you  why. 

He  signed  only  his  initials  and  despatched  it 
before  meeting  some  of  his  creditors  that  night  in 
his  apartment.  He  had  already  cabled  Annie  to 
Berlin.  Two  days  passed  before  an  answer  came 
from  her.  "My  poor,  dear  John!"  she  cabled  in 
return:  "Mamma  and  Fanny  and  I  are  simply 
heart-broken  over  your  misfortune.  But  cheer  up, 
we  are  coming  right  over  to  be  with  you.  It  may 
not  be  half  as  bad  as  you  fear,  dearest.  And  what- 

312 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ever  it  is,  you  well  know  it  could  make  no  differ- 
ence in  my  feelings,  dear  John,  for  you.  Send  us 
frequent  word.  We  long  for  good  news  and  I  shall 
be  thinking  of  you  every  moment  until  I  see  you. 
With  lots  of  love.  Annie." 

Mrs.  Whitney's  own  cablegram  of  the  same  date 
to  Havens  asking  him  whether  her  interests  were 
safe  in  the  monetary  storm  was  sent  at  the  same 
time,  and  by  him  she  was  fully  reassured. 

Adrane  wrote  Annie  the  night  he  heard  from  her 
and  expressed  his  gratitude  for  her  loyalty  and 
sympathy.  It  was  a  fresh  humiliation  to  reflect 
on  the  position  he  occupied  toward  her — painfully 
indifferent  yet  definitely  pledged;  in  love  with 
one  woman,  bound  to  another,  and  half-suspect- 
ing that  Annie  herself  was  by  no  means  wild  about 
himself,  but  not  able  to  resolve  his  doubt.  It 
seemed  all  a  part  of  the  wretched  mess  he  had 
made  of  his  affairs,  and  his  increasing  depression 
could  be  relieved  only  by  thinking  of  one  who 
should  have  no  business  in  his  thoughts — Merrilie. 

With  Annie  true  to  him  in  his  poverty,  what 
could  he  do  but  prove  true  to  her,  and  he  forced 
himself  to  write  what  his  thoughts  of  another  made 
it  seem  shameful  to  say.  He  was  thus  in  no  mood 
to  minimize  the  magnitude  of  his  failure,  and  even 
Drake's  faithful  account  of  it  to  Mrs.  Whitney 
gained  nothing  in  comparison  with  Adrane's  open 


Merrilie  Dawes 

discouragement  over  his  situation  expressed  to 
Annie.  He  was  crippled,  he  feared,  irrevocably, 
and  said  so.  He  cut  his  daily  personal  expenses 
down  to  the  lowest  possible  notch.  But  his  serv- 
ant, Oliver,  whom  he  had  dismissed  in  retrench- 
ing, could  not  wholly  be  shaken  off,  and  while 
waiting  for  a  new  situation  still  came  every  morn- 
ing and  evening,  in  spite  of  Adrane's  protests, 
to  take  care  of  his  rooms. 

Annie,  meantime,  sent  frequent  cablegrams  of 
affection  and  sympathy.  She  complained  in  these 
that  Adrane  was  forgetting  her  and  begged  him  to 
cable  her  daily  as  she  did  him.  At  length  a  day 
intervened  without  any  word  from  Paris,  whither 
Annie  had  removed.  The  next  day  a  long  message 
of  affectionate  import  acknowledged  receipt  of  his 
letter.  After  a  further  interval  of  some  days  she 
wired  that  she  was  ill  and  that  their  arrangements 
for  starting  home  were  upset.  She  asked  John  to 
come  over  to  her. 

Adrane,  strained  to  the  limit  of  endurance  in  the 
untangling  of  his  affairs,  was  not  sorry  to  hear  the 
home-coming  had  been  delayed.  He  cabled  his 
sympathy,  explained  how  impossible  it  would  be 
for  him  to  come  to  her  unless  her  condition  was 
critical,  asked  her  mother  for  full  particulars,  and 
plunged  with  all  the  strength  he  could  command 
into  his  affairs  to  aid  the  committee  of  his  credit- 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ors.  Mrs.  Whitney  in  a  brief  message  reassured 
him  as  to  Annie's  condition.  Adrane  forgot  to 
acknowledge  the  word. 

In  the  interval  following,  and  during  the  legal 
fight  of  the  Drakes  for  a  receiver  for  the  Adrane 
properties,  Henry  Benjamin,  though  not  the  most 
heavily  interested,  had  become  the  most  active 
man  on  the  Adrane  committee.  He  represented 
Hamersley  also,  and  through  patience  and  persist- 
ence in  digging  out  information  became  intimate 
with  the  details  of  Adrane's  disastrous  campaign. 
His  tireless  efforts  to  make  himself  familiar  with 
everything  connected,  both  with  Adrane's  com- 
panies and  his  market  operations,  alternately 
excited  Adrane's  impatience  with  him  as  an  in- 
tolerable interloper  or  aroused  his  interest  in  him  as 
a  sagacious  counsellor.  Moreover,  Benjamin,  with 
abler  counsel  than  Adrane  could  afford  to  secure, 
had  joined  with  him  in  resisting  Drake's  attempts 
to  throw  his  steel  companies  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver. 

To  protect  himself  in  the  new  fight  into  which 
Drake's  action  plunged  him,  Adrane  was  com- 
pelled to  go  with  his  lawyers  to  Saint  Louis  to 
fight  the  Drake  suit.  Indeed,  against  Drake  and 
those  behind  him  Adrane  was  fighting  for  his 
very  life,  and  all  he  had  been  through  in  the  mar- 
ket seemed  little  in  comparison  to  the  efforts  he 


Merrilie  Dawes 

was  now  compelled  to  put  forth  to  save  his  crip- 
pled undertakings.  He  was  struggling  without 
money,  and  almost  without  hope,  to  keep  con- 
trol of  the  results  of  his  life's  endeavors.  He 
cabled  and  wrote  Annie  before  starting,  apprising 
her  of  his  movements,  and,  delayed  day  after 
day  by  court  proceedings  in  Saint  Louis,  Adrane 
cabled  his  Western  address  for  mail.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  got  back  to  New  York.  A 
long  conference  with  Benjamin  after  his  return 
made  Adrane  ashamed  of  his  former  brusqueness, 
and  meeting  the  broker  at  lunch  one  day  he 
intimated  as  much.  Benjamin  gave  him  a  shock. 
"Don't  thank  me,  John,"  he  exclaimed  with 
disconcerting  candor.  "Don't  think  for  a  min- 
ute I'm  doing  anything  for  you.  I've  a  client 
practically  cleaned  out  by  your  doings.  It's  my 
client  I'm  working  for,  not  you.  But  I've  in- 
cidentally uncovered  the  pit  you  dropped  into, 
John." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Benjamin  looked  keenly  at  him.  "We've  got 
the  governors  after  Crooks  &  Overholt  and  Macy 
&  Handy  to-day."  He  paused.  "Your  creditors 
are  going  to  meet  to-morrow,  afternoon  at  three 
o'clock  at  Drake's  offices.  John,  I  want  you  to 
meet  me  at  my  office  at  two  o'clock.  I  may  be 
able  to  make  things  clear  by  that  time,  and, 

316 


Merrilie  Dawes 

incidentally,  make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  Come 
prepared  to  be  surprised.  Will  you  do  it?  Very 
good.  Afterward  we  will  go  to  Mr.  Drake's  little 
meeting." 


317 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN  Drake's  offices  on  the  following  afternoon 
practically  the  same  group  of  men  gathered 
that  had  met  at  Amos  Hamersley's  residence  the 
night  before  the  Adrane  suspension.  Hamersley 
himself,  impatient  and  curt,  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table.  Obstacles  arose  almost  as  soon  as  the  con- 
ference began,  and  while  criticism  and  comment 
were  plentiful  they  were  not  of  a  character  to  clear 
the  air  materially.  At  this  unsatisfactory  junc- 
ture Havens  rose  from  his  chair.  He  stood  for 
a  time  silent.  It  was  only  after  every  eye  was 
directed  toward  him  that  he  spoke. 

"I  think  some  of  the  difficulties  before  us  are  due 
to  our  lack  of  complete  information  concerning  the 
affairs  of  Adrane  Brothers,"  he  began.  "We  all 
know  they  have  been  frank  and  straightforward 
under  trying  conditions.  Where  we  have  fallen 
down,  it  seems  to  me,  is  in  a  lack  of  effective  team- 
work in  investigating  their  affairs — I  mean  as  to 
just  how  they  themselves  stand  and  what  they 
mean  to  try  to  do." 

McCrea  nodded  assent.  "That  sounds  right. 
318 


Merrilie  Dawes 

We  have  been  getting  nowhere — waiting  for  the 
information  we  need  to  drop  down  on  us  itself. 
Make  it  a  committee,  Havens,  to  get  together 
what  we  lack  and  report  to  another  meeting.  As 
it  is,  we  are  wasting  our  time.  How  many  mem- 
bers should  the  committee  have?" 

Havens  sat  down  as  he  answered:  "Not  so 
many  as  to  be  unwieldy;  not  too  few  to  be  rep- 
resentative," he  suggested  sententiously.  Ham- 
ersley  snorted,  but  made  no  comment.  Havens, 
when  urged,  moved  that  an  investigating  com- 
mittee be  appointed  by  the  chair. 

With  the  motion  carried,  Hamersley,  over  his 
eye-glasses,  looked  testily  around  the  table. 
"Chairman,  Benedict  R.  Havens,"  he  announced. 
"Who  else?" 

Henry  Benjamin  rose.  "Mr.  Chairman,"  he  be- 
gan in  a  restrained  and  placating  tone,  "may  I 
speak  for  a  moment  on  the  naming  of  this  commit- 
tee?" 

Hamersley  scowled  at  him.   "Go  on " 

"This  is  an  extremely  ordinary  occasion  for  some 
of  us — especially  for  those  of  us  whose  hair  has 
begun  to  fall  out,"  he  continued.  "But  the 
occasion  develops,  under  this  motion,  an  extraor- 
dinary situation — one  that  I,  personally,  have 
never  seen  in  any  creditors'  meeting  in  my  life. 
Nor  can  I  recollect,  in  such  scattered  reading  as 

319 


Merrilie  Dawes 

too  few  leisure  moments  have  enabled  me  to 
snatch  from  a  busy  life,  any  precedent  in  human 
history  for  such  a  situation." 

"Cut  it  short,"  growled  Henry  Kneeland,  crush- 
ing a  cigar  between  his  fingers. 

"It  will  be  too  short,  Kneeland.  These  credit- 
ors want  information.  When  this  committee  is 
appointed  it  will  devolve  on  me  to  supply  all  that 
is  material  in  this  case."  The  words^were  care- 
fully chosen.  Even  Hamersley  began  to  scowl, 
which  meant  he  was  listening. 

"What  I  purpose  doing  at  this  moment,"  Ben- 
jamin went  on,  "is  only  to  tell  all  of  you,  now, 
what  I  should  tell  this  new  committee  and  what  it 
afterward  would  ask  me  to  tell  you  anyway.  My 
surprise" — the  words  fell  with  pointed  distinct- 
ness— "at  Mr.  Havens' s  motion  for  a  committee 
on  information  concerning  the  affairs  of  Adrane 
Brothers  is  not  shared  or  understood  by  you  as 
it  soon  will  be.  I  move  to  amend,  Mr.  Chairman, 
by  asking  Mr.  Havens  to  disclose  fully  to  this  meet- 
ing, here  and  now,  his  own  confidential  relations, 
as  banker  and  friend,  with  Mr.  John  Adrane.  For 
this,  too,  we  need  Mr.  Adrane's  presence.  And, 
by  the  way" — Benjamin  looked  toward  the  open 
door  of  the  anteroom — "here,  at  my  instance, 
comes  Mr.  Adrane  now." 

All  eyes,  following  Benjamin's  gesture,  fixed  on 
320 


Merrilie  Dawes 

John  Adrane  standing  in  the  doorway.  Adrane 
walked  slowly  forward  and,  nodding  to  Hamersley 
as  chairman,  sat  down  half-way  between  the  table 
and  the  door.  Havens,  speaking  with  amiable 
frankness,  broke  the  silence.  "Just  what  there  may 
be  in  Mr.  Adrane's  relations  to  me  as  a  debtor  to 
enlighten  this  meeting,  Mr.  Benjamin  may  have 
in  mind;  I  haven't." 

Benjamin,  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  the  arms 
of  his  chair,  looked  not  at  Havens,  but  at  the  table 
in  front  of  him.  "Very  good,"  he  retorted  inscru- 
tably, "only  don't  say  I  didn't  give  you  a  chance 
to  tell  the  story." 

"But,  Benjamin,"  interposed  Harry  Drake  im- 
patiently, "as  chairman  of  the  committee  we  are 
appointing,  Mr.  Havens " 

"That,"  exclaimed  Benjamin  energetically,  "is 
what  I  find  unprecedented — making  Mr.  Havens 
chairman  of  a  post-mortem  on  Adrane  Brothers. 
I've  heard  of  queer  things  in  my  lifetime " 

"Get  to  the  point,"  scowled  Hamersley. 

"But  I  never  heard,"  continued  Benjamin  un- 
abashed, "of  Joab's  being  put  on  a  committee  to 
investigate  the  stabbing  of  Amasa.  Yet  this,  gen- 
tlemen, would  have  been  a  congruous  proceeding 
compared  to  asking  Benedict  R.  Havens  to 
tell  us  why  Adrane  Brothers  failed."  Benjamin 
dropped  his  mask  of  sarcasm  and  looked  directly 

321 


Merrilie  Dawes 

at  Havens.  "He  is  the  Joab,  the  Judas  of  this 
whole  affair.  It  isn't  Adrane  Brothers  who  owe 
us  money,  it  is  that  man  right  there!"  His  finger 
shot  out  at  Havens  like  a  catapult. 

White  with  rage,  the  banker  sprang  up.  "You 
scoundrel,"  he  cried,  clenching  his  fists  and 
scarcely  able  in  his  passion  to  frame  the  words. 

"I  mean,"  retorted  Benjamin,  at  white  heat  but 
composed  and  shaking  his  stubby  finger  with  every 
phrase,  "that  John  Adrane  sold  you,  at  different 
times,  block  after  block  of  Steel  fifty,  sixty, 
seventy  points  below  the  market — with  the  un- 
derstanding," roared  Benjamin,  "that  you  would 
keep  it  off  the  market.  You  took  this  stock  from 
John  Adrane,  and  through  Macy  &  Handy  and 
Crooks  &  Overholt  you  sold  it  back  to  John 
Adrane  at  the  markety  fifty,  sixty,  and  seventy 
dollars  a  share  above  what  you  paid  for  it.  That's 
what  I  mean,  Mr.  Benedict  R.  Havens." 

The  listeners  about  the  table  leaned  forward. 
Adrane  sat  motionless.  Havens,  green  with  fury, 
tried  to  break  in.  "You  scoundrel,"  he  cried  again, 
"every  word  of  that  is  a  lie " 

"I  mean,"  roared  Benjamin  relentlessly  and 
with  his  finger  going  like  a  hammer,  "you  blood- 
sucked  John  Adrane  and  the  Steel  pool.  I  mean, 
I  have  the  facts.  I  mean,  the  suspension  of  Macy 
&  Handy  will  be  announced  on  the  floor  at  the 

322 


Merrilie  Dawes 

opening  to-morrow  morning.  I  mean,  I  already 
know  their  books.  I  mean,  I've  got  you  dead  to 
rights  at  every  turn  of  your  game,  Mr.  Benedict 
R.  Havens!  Now  talk!" 

He  sat  down  to  get  his  breath.  Drake  sprang 
up  angrily.  "This  isn't  fair,  and  I,  for  one,  pro- 
test against  such  ruffianly  abuse  of  a  business  as- 
sociate." 

Benjamin,  almost  breathless,  only  glared  at 
him  in  contemptuous  silence.  But  no  one  came 
to  Drake's  aid.  A  suspicious  gloom  settled  over 
the  table.  Havens,  still  on  his  feet,  his  face  set 
in  stone,  gray  and  ugly,  regained  a  semblance 
of  composure.  He  looked  coldly  around  the  stu- 
pefied circle.  "I  didn't  expect  to  be  made  the  tar- 
get of  an  outrageous  attack  at  this  meeting,"  he 
said  heatedly,  "but  I  stand  here  absolutely  confi- 
dent of  the  integrity  of  my  position.  Every  deal- 
ing I  have  had  with  Adrane  Brothers  or  with  John 
Adrane  will  confirm  what  I  say  and  give  the  lie 
to  this  blackguard.  He  has  told  you  half-truths 
to  support  a  tissue  of  falsehood.  I  have  traded 
through  Macy  &  Handy  as  others  in  this  room 
have  done.  I  don't  care  what  their  books  show 
as  to  my  business.  But  he  has  dragged  in  also,  to 
bolster  up  his  insinuations,  the  name  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  most  reputable  houses  in  the  Street, 
Crooks  &  Overholt.  They  may  be  called  before 

323 


Merrilie  Dawes 

any  committee  you  like  to  give  the  lie  to  these 
scandalous  assertions!" 

"Don't  call  Crooks  &  Overholt,"  objected 
Benjamin  doggedly.  "I  can  tell  you  everything 
they  can." 

"That  is  of  a  piece  with  all  his  damnable  asser- 
tions!" Havens  towered  with  passion.  "This 
scoundrel  knows  that  Crooks  &  Overholt  have 
reputation  and  standing  in  circles  where  he  has 
none.  He  knows  that  either  Mr.  Crooks  or  Mr. 
Overholt,  men  of  the  highest  sense  of  honor,  can 
give  the  lie  to  everything  he  has  said " 

Benjamin  put  up  his  hand  to  fend  off  the  storm 
of  denunciation.  "I  am  glad  to  hear  every  word 
Mr.  Havens  urges  as  to  the  unspotted  reputation 
enjoyed  by  the  house  of  Crooks  &  Overholt,"  he 
assented  gravely.  Then  he  rose  again  to  his  feet, 
his  eyes  darting  anger  at  the  accused  banker  as 
he  sprung  his  crushing  rejoinder.  "I  thank  Mr. 
Havens,"  cried  Benjamin  deliberately,  "for  his 
commendation  of  the  high  sense  of  honor  possessed 
by  these  men  and  I  want  to  add  that  they 
proved  unwilling  witnesses.  But,  gentlemen,  in- 
terrogated under  pressure  by  the  governors  of  the 
Exchange  within  an  hour,  Mr.  Crooks  and  Mr. 
Overholt  reluctantly  gave  up  as  the  client  for 
whom  they  had  been  selling  Steel  for  thirty  days, 
the  name  of  Benedict  R.  Havens!" 


Merrilie  Dawes 

A  bombshell  dropped  on  the  table  would  have 
proved  no  more  astounding.  "Hell!"  roared  Henry 
Kneeland. 

"Havens!"  bellowed  McCrea,  looking  in  con- 
sternation at  Hamersley.  Amos  Hamersley's  jaws 
chopped  and  pounded  like  a  propeller  screw  in 
and  out  of  water;  it  was  as  near  overwhelming 
wrath  as  he  ever  got. 

"That's  all  we  want  to  know,"  said  More 
savagely. 

Havens  put  his  hand  on  More's  arm.  "No,"  he 
thundered  in  a  voice  shaking  but  defiant.  "I 
care  not  whose  books  and  whose  testimony  are 
dragged  into  this  thing.  I  took  collateral  from 
Adrane  and  gave  him  money  repeatedly — he  owes 
our  bank  to-day.  When  I  felt  unsafe  I  disposed 
of  my  collateral  as  I  had  an  unquestioned  right  to 
do  and  as  any  banker  may  do." 

"No,"  protested  Benjamin,  "not  when  you  had 
given  your  word " 

"Given  his  word!"  echoed  Drake  sneeringly. 
"Does  a  banker  give  his  word  not  to  sell  his  col- 
lateral?" 

Benjamin,  enraged  at  the  equivocation,  pointed 
his  deadly  finger  at  the  insurance  magnate.  "If 
you  had  brains  enough,  Drake,  I  should  say  you 
were  in  with  him!"  he  vociferated. 

Drake  turned  on  Benjamin  with  unmeasured 
325 


Merrilie  Dawes 

abuse.  Kneeland  tried  to  check  him.  Hamersley 
pounded  for  order.  Every  man  in  the  room  was 
talking  or  trying  to  talk. 

"Adrane,"  shouted  Kneeland,  turning,  above 
the  confusion  of  tongues,  "what  is  there  to  this 
part  of  Henry  Benjamin's  story?'* 

Adrane  sat  as  if  only  objectively  interested. 
"Mr.  Benjamin,"  he  answered  curtly,  "has  told 
the  exact  truth." 

"The  truth  ? " echoed  Havens,  turning,  outraged, 
on  his  new  accuser.  "He  doesn't  know  what  truth 
is " 

"See  here,  Havens,"  interposed  Adrane  rudely. 
"You  bought  Steel  from  me,  outright,  at  par  when 
Steel  was  selling  above  a  hundred  and  fifty,  and 
agreed  to  hold  it -" 

Havens  cut  in.  "Only  as  long  as  conditions  war- 
ranted." 

"Don't  interrupt.  You  agreed  if  you  felt  un- 
safe to  sell  it  back  to  me  at  par." 

"You  had  no  money  to  pay  for  it,"  shouted 
Havens. 

"You  never  offered  one  share  to  me  under  that 
agreement,"  thundered  Adrane,  rising  menacingly. 

Others  jumped  up.  No  one  cared  to  see  Adrane 
in  action.  Hamersley  restrained  him. 

"What  more  do  you  want,  gentlemen?"  de- 
manded Benjamin  in  stentorian  tones.  "There's 

326 


Merrilie  Dawes 

the  whole  story.     You  weren't  any  of  you  born 
yesterday " 

Adrane,  with  gathering  anger,  was  answering 
Havens  over  Hamersley's  shoulder.  "I  had  money 
to  take  everything  offered  me — and  did  take  every- 
thing to  the  end.  Don't  lie  about  it." 

Benjamin  turned  on  the  infuriated  banker. 
"You  sold  his  Steel  a  month  before  he  suspended! 
It  was  pouring  his  money  into  your  bottomless 
bucket  that  broke  him,  and  nothing  else!" 

Havens  in  a  frenzy  rushed  toward  his  accusers. 
Kneeland  caught  his  arm.  "No  man  can  give  me 
the  lie,"  shouted  Havens,  livid.  "Let  me  go!" 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!"  protested  Arthur 
More. 

"This  is  outrageous,"  cried  Drake. 

Spruance,  with  Kneeland,  forced  Havens  back. 
"Am  I  to  be  outfaced,"  he  demanded,  "by  this 
bankrupt  and  this  Jew?" 

"Havens,"  thundered  Hamersley,  so  enraged 
that  his  eye-glasses  danced  on  his  nose, "  stop  where 
you  are." 

"Sit  down,  all  of  you,"  stormed  Spruance. 
"Get  in  order  here.  We  don't  want  fighting;  we 
want  facts." 

The  last  word  only  fired  Benjamin  anew. 
"Facts!"  he  echoed  shrilly.  "You  have  the  facts. 
Day  after  day— 

327 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Sit  down!"  cried  Kneeland. 

"Give  Mr.  Havens  a  chance  to  speak,"  insisted 
Drake. 

"Day  after  day,"  roared  Benjamin  above  the 
tumult,  "Adranetook  Steel  that  he  was  paying  one 
hundred  and  fifty  for  on  the  floor,  to  this  man," 
pointing  his  inevitable  finger  at  Havens.  "He 
sold  it  to  Havens  at  par,  gentlemen,  to  take  this 
stock  off  the  market.  Have  you  heard  the  senti- 
ments of  Mr.  Havens,  'The  undeviating  rule  of  any 
great  bank,  to-day,  should  be  clean,  high-minded, 
purposeful  service/  And  this  clean,  high-minded, 
purposeful  Mr.  Double-breasted  Benedict  Right- 
eous Havens,  before  Adrane's  trusting  footsteps 
were  cold  on  his  threshold,  turned  these  stock  cer- 
tificates over  to  Macy  &  Handy  and  Crooks  & 
Overholt,  and  dumped  them  right  back  through 
the  market  on  Adrane  at  one  hundred  and  fifty 
and  up.  No  wonder  he  broke  him!  He  would 
break  the  Treasury  of  the  United  States.  And 
that  isn't  all.  Not  satisfied  with  bankrupting 
Adrane,  he,  with  our  blond  life-insurance  magnate 
here,  put  in  buying  orders  for  Steel  the  minute 
Adrane  suspended,  with  the  high-minded  purpose 
of  wresting  from  him  the  control  of  his  crippled 
companies.  They  wanted  not  only  his  money, 
gentlemen,  they  wanted  his  hide!" 

Havens,  struggling  to  free  himself  at  every  word, 
328 


Merrilie  Dawes 

shouting  epithets  of  abuse,  interrupting,  denoun- 
cing, was  forced,  under  the  restraint  of  Spruance 
and  Kneeland,  to  take  every  word.  Drake  was 
beside  himself.  "I  won't  listen  to  these  lies,"  he 
protested  in  a  fury. 

"While  I  was  moving  heaven  and  earth  for  a 
month  to  find  out  where  this  avalanche  of  stock  was 
coming  from,"  panted  Benjamin,  despite  every  in- 
terruption, "this  was  going  on  under  my  very  nose. 
A  Jew,  gentlemen,  he  calls  me.  He  calls  me  a 
Jew!"  Benjamin's  arms  shot  upward:  "My  God! 
What  a  king  was  lost  to  Israel  when  this  pillar  of 
rectitude,  this  founder  of  universities,  this  bene- 
factor of  struggling  brotherhoods  was  stolen  from 
us  in  his  mother's  cradle  and  baptized  a  Chris- 
tian!" 

Bedlam  broke  loose. 

"I  move,  Mr.  Chairman,"  yelled  Kneeland, 
"that  for  thirty  days  the  synagogues  be  draped  in 
black." 

"At  the  expense,"  returned  Benjamin,  like 
a  flash,  "of  Henry  Kneeland  and  the  curb 
pikers!" 

Hamersley  was  pounding  for  order.  "And  I 
move  further,"  persisted  Kneeland  in  the  din, 
"that  the  freedom  of  a  pew  be  tendered  Mr. 
Havens!" 

"As  soon,"  yelled  Benjamin,  "as  we  can  get  the 
329 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Talmud  chained  and  the  carpets  and  furniture 
nailed  down,  Henry — yes!" 

"I  declare  the  meeting  adjourned,"  thundered 
Hamersley. 

"This  is  grossly  unjust,"  cried  Havens.  "I  have 
been  outrageously  slandered.  I  demand  to  be 
heard." 

"We've  heard  too  much,"  snapped  Hamersley 
savagely. 

There  was  a  movement  for  the  door.  Drake 
led  Havens  toward  his  private  office.  No  one  fol- 
lowed them.  The  others,  talking  in  angry  under- 
tones, converged  toward  the  vestibule;  Adrane, 
Hamersley,  and  Benjamin,  still  gesticulating  furi- 
ously, with  Spruance,  McCrea,  More,  and  Knee- 
land. 


330 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ADRANE  rode  up-town  with  Amos  Hamersley. 
He  spent  an  hour  with  him  in  Madison 
Avenue  discussing  Havens.  He  refused  to  run  up 
that  night  to  Crossrips  with  his  host,  though 
Hamersley  importuned  him.  The  incidents  of 
the  afternoon  had  left  him  humiliated  and  savage 
and  he  wanted  to  be  completely  alone. 

Oliver,  the  next  evening,  by  the  merest  accident 
gave  him  another  shock.  He  spoke  of  hearing  that 
Mrs.  Whitney,  Mrs.  Havens,  and  Annie  were  in 
town.  Adrane,  at  his  desk,  going  over  copies  of 
the  papers  filed  in  Drake's  application  for  a  re- 
ceiver to  complete  his  destruction,  turned  hastily  in 
his  chair.  He  disputed  his  servant's  information. 
Oliver  persisted.  He  had  had  the  news  from 
Drake's  own  man;  Drake  had  met  the  ladies  at  the 
boat.  When  Adrane  brusquely  declared  it  impos- 
sible, Oliver  after  some  search  produced  a  copy  of 
a  newspaper  of  the  evening  before  announcing 
among  the  arrivals  from  Europe  Mrs.  Carlos 
Whitney,  and  her  daughters,  Mrs.  Benedict  Ha- 
vens and  Miss  Annie  Whitney. 

Adrane  studied  the  item  for  some  moments  be- 


Merrilie  Dawes 

fore  he  put  down  the  paper.  This,  perhaps,  ex- 
plained his  failure  to  receive  any  recent  letter. 
But  that  he  should  have  had  no  message  from 
Annie,  apprising  him  of  her  coming,  angered  him. 

He  pushed  aside  the  litter  of  documents  to 
try  to  think  it  out,  but  of  all  phases  of  the  per- 
plexity, the  one  he  was  least  minded  to  endure  was 
that  of  .uncertainty.  He  left  his  desk  somewhat 
abruptly  and,  taking  his  hat  and  gloves,  started 
to  walk  over  to  Annie's. 

He  walked  rather  swiftly  as  if  his  errand  were 
an  impetuous  one,  and  not  until  he  had  almost 
reached  the  door  of  the  Whitney  home  did  he 
slacken  his  pace.  His  impulse  had  been  to  see 
Annie,  to  ask  every  question  and  resolve  every 
doubt;  the  second  thought  was  to  ask  himself 
whether  he  ought  to  go  at  all,  or  whether  he 
ought  to  wait  till  he  should  hear  from  her.  It  was 
this  doubt  that  slowed  his  steps.  But  he  kept 
on,  and  with  each  continuing  stride  he  returned  to 
his  first  impulse. 

A  new  butler  opened  Mrs.  Whitney's  door;  the 
faces  of  the  Whitney  servants  were  always  new. 
This  in  itself  irritated  him,  and  while  Adrane 
waited,  after  his  name  had  gone  up-stairs,  he 
was  thinking  of  the  dignity  of  Merrilie's  household 
instead  of  thinking  of  Annie  for  whom  he  was 
waiting. 

332 


Merrilie  Dawes 

He  glanced  around  at  the  familiar  furnishings  of 
the  room,  a  charming  little  anteroom  off  the  larger 
reception-room  to  the  right,  and  remembered  that 
this  was  where  Annie  had  received  him  the  first 
time  after  their  return  from  Florida.  They  had 
been  so  extraordinarily  happy  that  evening;  it 
seemed  almost  curious  now  looking  back  at  it. 
But  he  had  been  so  stimulated  at  that  time  with 
big  undertakings,  and  was  so  exultant  in  his  first 
considerable  doing  and  succeeding. 

He  confessed  to  himself  that  his  head  had  been 
turned  then  by  his  succeeding — and  with  more 
consequences  than  one.  Annie,  it  seemed  to  him 
now,  had  come  into  that  first  burning  sunshine  of 
his  life  as  a  child  might  come  in  and  make  complete 
a  rather  heady  happiness  springing  from  the  fair- 
ness of  success.  And  the  thought  of  Florida  and 
sunshine  brought  back  the  night  at  Palm  Beach 
in  which  it  seemed  now  so  horribly  patent  that  he 
had  made  a  fool  of  himself — the  display  of  fire- 
works, the  moment  he  had  very  blunderingly  kissed 
Annie  and  felt  it  necessary  in  consequence  to  ask 
her  to  be  his  wife.  He  had  more  than  once  since 
then  had  misgivings  about  that  impulsive  evening 
dash  from  the  precincts  of  his  natural  reserve.  A 
slow  man,  he  reflected  gravely,  always  makes  a 
mess  of  it  when  he  dashes  at  anything. 

Annie  seemed  long  in  coming  down — she  was  al- 
333 


Merrilie  Dawes 

ways  longer  than  Merrilie  was.  Adrane  was  trying 
to  remember  just  what  he  had  said  that  night  on 
the  beach  while  the  bombs  were  bursting  above  the 
water  and  raining  marvellous  sheets  of  fire  down 
the  sky.  When  he  kissed  her  she  had  looked  up 
at  him  so  frightened,  mute,  appealing,  that  he 
had  felt  he  must  say  something  to  back  it  up — 
he  had  felt,  in  a  way,  committed — and  he  had 
told  her  he  loved  her.  Even  yet  he  could  re- 
member how  taken  aback  and  guilty  he  felt  when 
she  whispered,  "You  don't  love  me,  John.  You 
only  think  you  do." 

He  knew  well  now  that  Annie  in  her  desire  to 
be  reassured  had,  quite  unwittingly,  stumbled  in 
these  words  on  a  distressing  truth.  Too  well  he 
remembered  how  he  had  protested  he  did  love 
her  and  had  simulated  a  warmth  that  was  forced, 
thinking  the  reason  why  it  sat  awkwardly  on 
him  was  because  he  was  so  inexperienced  in 
love-making. 

The  blood  flooded  his  whole  face  in  the  humilia- 
tion of  thinking  it  over.  This,  love,  indeed !  It 
was  shameful  to  recall,  crushing  to  vanity,  sober- 
ing to  impulse.  It  had  been  less  than  a  year  ago 
— but  he  felt  in  the  interval  too  many  harsh 
years  older  and,  worst  or  best  of  all,  he  knew  too 
well  what  the  real  love  of  a  man  is — long-smoth- 
ered and  deep-burning,  growing  by  resistless  leaps 

334 


Merrilie  Dawes 

and  bounds  into  a  living,  mastering  fire,  heedless 
of  protest,  fierce  of  restraint,  eating  its  blind, 
feverish  way  deeper  and  deeper  to  its  answering 
glow  in  a  woman's  heart.  The  shame  of  it  all, 
to  have  mistaken  the  common  heat  of  a  kiss  for 
the  white-hot  flame  of  a  love  that  burns  with  life 
itself. 

Annie  hurried  down-stairs.  She  ran  to  him  with 
a  little  troubled  laugh  as  he  sprang  forward. 
"Oh,  John,"  she  cried.  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you." 
She  caught  his  extended  hands  prettily  in  her  own, 
pressed  them  in  hers  impulsively  to  his  own  breast, 
giving  him,  he  noted,  as  she  stood  close  and  he 
stooped  gravely  to  kiss  her,  her  forehead  instead 
of  her  lips.  It  was  a  relief  to  both — women  are 
so  clever  and  men  so  awkward  in  managing  situa- 
tions. "Where  have  you  come  from,  John ?  I  sup- 
posed, of  course,  you  were  in  Saint  Louis!  You 
cabled  from  there " 

"I  did,  Annie." 

"You  dear  old  fellow." 

"But  why,"  he  asked,  already  successfully 
nettled,  "are  you  here  without  my  knowing  any- 
thing of  it?" 

"Why,  John!  You  don't  know— sit  down. 
Oh,  such  a  time  as  I  have  had!"  They  sat  down 
side  by  side,  Adrane  still  keeping  one  of  her  hands. 
She  looked  reproachfully  up  into  his  face.  "Why 

335 


Merrilie  Dawes 

didn't  you  come  to  me,  John,  when  I  was  so 
ill?" 

"How  could  I  leave  here  with  my  affairs  in  such 
a  hideous  tangle  unless  you  had  been  critically 
ill " 

"But  I  was!" 

"Your  mother  cabled  it  wasn't  at  all  serious. 
Those  were  her  words " 

"Poor  mamma  didn't  want  to  alarm  you.  I 
was  very  ill,  John." 

"I  am  sorry." 

"And  the  minute  I  could  lift  my  head,  mamma 
came  down." 

"Has  she  been  ill,  too?" 

"Oh,  John!" 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"Anxiety — about  me.  And  then  the  terrible 
panic  over  here — her  own  affairs.  And  I  alone 
with  her — and  Fanny.  I  was  so  frightened.  And 
we  had  a  horrible  crossing — simply  horrible." 

"Why  didn't  you  write  or  cable  me?" 

"I  supposed  you  were  somewhere  in  the  awful 
West.  How  could  I  tell?  I  did  write  that  we 
were  coming,  you  know." 

"You  wrote  me  you  were  coming  this  month. 
But  that  wouldn't  tell  me  what  boat  to  meet." 

"Of  course  not,  John,  I  know.   We  landed  only 

yesterday " 

336 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"  Drake  met  you 

Annie's  eyes  were  so  frank  and  appealing.  "He 
was  at  the  boat,  yes.  All  of  mother's  poor  little 
affairs,  you  know,  are  in  his  hands,  John,  and  she 
cabled  Harry.  She  was  so  upset  by  the  talk  on 
shipboard  about  your  troubles " 

"My  troubles?"  echoed  Adrane  with  surprise. 

"The  whole  talk  was  of  nothing  else.  Two  gen- 
tlemen from  Poughkeepsie;  no,  from  White  Plains, 
or  one  was  from  Poughkeepsie  and  one  from  White 
Plains — had  lost  everything  they  had  in  your  Steel 
stocks.  And  mother  was  so  frightened,  not  being 
strong." 

"I  expressly  asked  her  not  to  buy  Steel." 

"Oh,  she  didn't,  John.  But  naturally,  she  felt 
mortified " 

"And  you  didn't  let  me  know  you  were  com- 
ing," he  mused. 

"Why,  only  in  a  general  way,  John,  in  my  let- 
ters. And  I  didn't  know  where  to  cable  you." 
Annie's  distress  was  so  apparent  that  Adrane 
smiled  sombrely.  "You  couldn't  miss  me  in  the 
United  States,  Annie." 

"I  really  believe  not,  John,  you've  been  dis- 
cussed so  much,"  laughed  Annie  with  relief. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  to  reach  for  her  hand- 
kerchief. "Your  name  was  on  everybody's  lips." 

"My  troubles  have  made  me  conspicuous." 
337 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Isn't  it. just  awful,  John?  Why,  people  on  the 
boat  cut  me  as  if  I  had  some  contagious  disease,  ^t 
almost  killed  me." 

"I  am  sorry,  Annie,  you  should  be  humiliated  on 
my  account." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  that,  John." 

"Who  cut  you?" 

"Those  two  gentlemen  from  Poughkeepsie — or 
White  Plains,  or  one  was  from " 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Annie." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  that.  I  keep  thinking  of  all 
the  others  who  have  lost.  I  called  up  poor  Cousin 
Merrilie  this  morning — and  what  do  you  think? 
Even  the  telephone  is  taken  out.  Isn't  it  perfectly 
awful  to  think  she  has  lost  everything?" 

Adrane  stiffened:  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ? "  Annie's  eyes  opened  wide. 
"Why,  John,  of  all  men!  Don't  you  know  Mer- 
rilie has  lost  every  dollar  she  has  in  the  world 
through  this  dreadful  Steel  speculation?"  He  lis- 
tened, stunned.  "She  had  to  sell  her  house.  Of 
course,  you  know  that  ? " 

His  senses  whirled  at  Annie's  words.  "I  knew 
she  had  sold  it,"  he  answered  stonily,  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  said. 

"And  her  beautiful  house  in  Paris  went  all  fur- 
nished just  as  it  was,  to  pay  her  debts — the  whole 
thing  for  a  song,  too.  Poor  mamma  was  heart- 

338 


Merrilie  Dawes 

sick  when  Harry  Drake  told  her.  There  was  so 
much  in  it  she  herself  would  have  paid  poor  Mer- 
rilie generously  for  if  she  had  only  known.  And 
you  know  Kennedy  is  dead?" 

"Kennedy  dead?"  echoed  Adrane,  thunder- 
struck. 

"Completely  heart-broken.  Poor,  dear  Ken- 
nedy. And  Mr.  Tilden  is  drinking  himself  to 
death  since  the  house  was  dismantled.  His  poor 
wife!  She  was  here  this  morning.  And  all  from 
speculation!  Isn't  it  perfectly  terrible?" 

Adrane  felt  his  brain  on  fire.  Annie  enjoyed  in 
a  melancholy  way  the  stupefying  effect  of  her 
news,  but  without  knowing  how  successfully  and 
completely  she  had  cut  her  disordered  fiance  to  the 
heart. 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  new  to  him  and  as  impassive 
as  a  judgment.  "It  might  not  be  wholly  fair  to 
lay  poor  Tilden's  drunkenness  at  my  door,  but 
that  is  a  trivial  matter."  He  bent  his  head  on  his 
two  hands. 

"John,  dear!  Don't  understand  me  for  a  min- 
ute as  laying  anything  at  your  door " 

"Tilden  may  well  lie  there  with  the  rest,"  he 
said,  looking  up.  She  saw  in  his  face  new  and 
haggard  lines.  "Where  is  Merrilie?"  he  asked 
curtly. 

"Nobody  knows,  John." 
339 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  must  know.  And  I  must  see  her  to-night/' 
He  rose  to  his  feet.  "Annie?"  he  looked  down  at 
her  almost  fiercely.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  was  afraid  of  her  great,  business-man  fiance 
and  disliked  his  brusqueness.  She  knew  what  was 
coming  and  her  heart  stood  still.  "I  must  go," 
he  said  harshly;  "I  am  going  to  find  Merrilie. 
You  have  something  you  want  to  say  to  me.  I 
know  and  feel  it.  Let  me,  in  turn,  say  only  this: 
Don't  be  afraid;  say  it  without  hesitation." 

"Why,  no,  John,"  her  eyes  were  so  sweetly  wide- 
open  and  sincere.  "I  have  nothing  special  to  say. 
Only  how  sorry  I  am  for  all  this  trouble  you  have 
had. '  How  I  wish,  oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  help 
you!  That  is  what  hurts  me,  John.  I  feel  utterly 
helpless.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  doomed  to  be  a  bur- 
den upon  you.  And  I  don't  want  to  be  a  burden, 
John." 

"Good,  Annie.  I  understand  you.  You  don't 
want  to  be  a  burden  and  if  I  were  to  insist  you  were 
no  burden  you  would  still  feel  that  you  are, 
shouldn't  you?" 

"I  couldn't  help  knowing  it,  John,  dear.  And 
this  awful  whirlpool  of  speculation!  Oh,  how  I 
dread  it!" 

"I  see,  Annie." 

"I'd  rather  live  anywhere,  in  Paris,  even,  than 
ever  to  see  or  hear  more  of  it." 

340 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Annie,  do  you  want  me  to  release  you  from 
your  engagement?" 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak.  Then  she 
looked  tearfully  at  him:  "John,  I  wouldn't  hurt 
your  feelings  for  the  world.  And  I  don't  want  you 
to  release  me — unless  it  seems  best  to  you, 
John— 

"I  am  only  ashamed  of  myself  for  ever  having 
asked  for  your  hand.  It  is  free,  Annie,  if  you  wish 
it." 

She  faltered,  and  her  eyes  brimmed  over  with 
tears:  "Why,  John.  I  don't  know  what  to  say! 
We  can  always  be  good  friends,  can't  we,  John?" 

"Always,  Annie." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ADRANE  made  his  way  out  of  the  house. 
In  the  street  his  mind  began  to  work  again. 
Of  the  scene  behind  him  he  thought  only  for  a 
moment  and  as  if  at  least  one  mountain  of  anxiety 
had  been  lifted  from  his  heart.  But  a  worse  was 
imposed  upon  it.  It  was  Merrilie  of  whom  he 
now  feverishly  thought — Merrilie  ruined — if  that 
were  possible — and  through  him.  He  tried  to 
discredit  the  story.  In  recalling  Annie's  sweep- 
ing assertions  and  reckless  innuendoes  he  seemed 
to  hear  the  studied  treachery  of  her  mother's 
hateful  voice.  Yet  the  benumbing  conviction 
would  come  back  that  in  this  she  had  told  the 
truth — that  Merrilie  was  ruined. 

It  was  Merrilie,  then,  who  had  been  Benjamin's 
powerful  client.  She,  single-handed,  who  had  sup- 
ported the  market  and  to  her  destruction,  when 
every  one  else  in  Steel — the  pool,  Hamersley, 
McCrea, he,  himself — had  lain  down.  He  clenched 
his  hands  and  set  his  teeth  at  the  thought — it  drove 
him  frantic  to  think  of  her  great  fortune  swallowed 
up  through  his  wretched  mistake.  He  found  a  tele- 

342 


Merrilie  Dawes 

phone  booth  and  tried  to  get  Merrilie's  number. 
After  delays  and  annoyances  and  questioning,  the 
trouble  operator  confirmed  what  Annie  had  told 
him — the  telephone  had  been  taken  out.  He  was 
so  heated,  so  infuriated,  by  the  time  he  had  learned 
this  that  he  turned  into  Fifth  Avenue  and  resolved 
to  see  for  himself  whether  the  house  was  empty. 

Long  before  he  came  within  sight  of  it,  appre- 
hension played  cruelly  with  him.  He  fixed  his 
eyes  straight  ahead,  and  as  each  object  obstruct- 
ing his  view  passed,  he  strained  his  eyes  for  a 
glimpse  of  her  home.  At  last,  in  the  night,  as 
he  neared  her  corner  its  outlines  rose  before  him. 
The  big  house  was  utterly  dark.  For  a  moment 
he  thought  he  saw  a  light  in  Merrilie's  window  and 
his  heart  leaped.  Then  he  perceived  it  was  the 
reflection  of  a  street  lamp  and  hope  sank.  He 
had  never  before  seen  the  house  without  a  light 
somewhere. 

He  leaned  against  an  area  railing.  Then  he  sat 
down  on  a  step  and  looked  at  the  silent,  gloomy 
pile,  thinking  poignantly  of  its  mistress — of  her 
humor,  her  laugh,  her  resolution,  her  courageous 
eyes,  always  enlivening,  questioning,  inspiring  him. 
And  through  him,  this  magnificent  girl,  knowing 
so  little  of  the  world,  queen  of  all  the  women 
he  had  known  or  dreamed  of,  had  come  to  pov- 
erty. He  sat  some  time  without  moving.  When 

343 


Merrilie  Dawes 

he  rose  and  walked  heavily  on,  he  told  himself 
that  whatever  his  sins,  he  knew  suffering  now. 

One  thought  alone  possessed  him,  one  determi- 
nation fiercely  moved  him  as  he  strode — to  find 
Merrilie.  That  was  all  he  wanted  or  could  think 
of.  The  name  of  Henry  Benjamin  crossed  his 
mind.  Why  hadn't  he  thought  of  him  before? 
He  surely  must  know  where  she  was. 

In  another  telephone  booth  he  secured  Benja- 
min's house  number.  It  was  away  up-town  and 
Adrane  took  the  subway.  When  he  found  Ben- 
jamin at  home  he  breathed  more  freely. 

"John,"  exclaimed  the  broker,  coming  hastily 
into  the  room  to  greet  his  unexpected  visitor, 
"what  brings  you  so  far  this  time  of  night  ?  Come 
into  the  other  room.  It's  only  a  family  game  of 
bridge." 

"Thank  you,  Henry,  no.  I  am  come,  hoping 
you  can  give  me  what  I  need  worse  than  anything 
else  in  the  world." 

"Money,  John?  Sure.  Say  what  you  want, 
and  take  enough." 

"Not  money,  at  all,  Henry " 

"You  don't  mean,  John,  to  say  there's  anything 
in  the  world  you  need  worse  than  money " 

"I  want  the  address  of  Miss  Merrilie  Dawes.' v 

Benjamin  knit  his  brows,  looked  at  the  floor  and 
up  again.  "By  heaven!"  he  confessed  bluntly, 

344 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"you  ask  me  for  the  one  thing  in  the  world  I 
can't  give  you." 

"You  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  where 
she  is?" 

Benjamin  hesitated.  "I  mean  to  say — what  I 
say." 

"You  know  where  she  is?" 

"I  didn't  say." 

Adrane  leaned  forward.  "Henry,  don't  play 
with  me.  I  must  see  Merrilie  Dawes  to-night. 
Where  is  she?" 

"You  can't  see  her  to-night — unless  you  take  an 
air-ship  or  a  hydroplane." 

"Where  is  she,  Henry?" 

"Frankly,  John,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say  where 
she  is." 

"Equally  frankly,  I  want  to  ask  you  to  disre- 
gard any  injunctions  you  have  from  her  on  that 
score.  Something  has  occurred  vitally  affecting 
both  her  position  and  mine.  I  can't  explain, 
Henry,  but  I  must  see  her.  I  take  all  the  re- 
sponsibility. I  will  stand  between  you  and  any 
blame." 

"Why,  man,  you  talk  as  if  it  were  a  life  and 
death  matter." 

Adrane's  manner  left  no  doubt  of  his  mood.  "  It 
is,  substantially,  that,"  he  said.  "I  only  assure 
you  that  she  will  not  blame  you  for  telling  me 

345 


Merrilie  Dawes 

what  I  should  find  out  in  a  few  days  at  the 
furthest,  and  by  telling  me  now  you  will  save  that 
much  suspense  and  uncertainty  for  both  of  us. 
Don't  argue  with  me." 

Benjamin  regarded  Adrane  meditatively  before 
he  answered:  "If  I  couldn't  patch  certain  things 
together  in  my  own  head,  John,  I  shouldn't  feel 
at  liberty  to  disregard  her  positive  instructions  any 
more  than  I  should  your  positive  instructions  un- 
der similar  circumstances.  And  all  I  can  say  even 
now,  is,  that  I  am  not  permitted  to  tell  you  she 
is  at  Crossrips  Island.  And  that  she  sails  Satur- 
day morning  for  Italy." 

Both  men  rose  at  once.  "I  should  have  known 
it!"  exclaimed  Adrane.  "Thank  you,  Henry," 
he  added  simply. 

Benjamin  raised  a  finger:  "Remember,  I  hold 
you." 

"I  assume  all  responsibility." 

"Now,  is  that  all?" 

"That  is  all." 

"You  heard  the  news  from  Saint  Louis,  to- 
night?" 

"No." 

"A  receiver  was  appointed  late  this  afternoon 
for  your  Steel  Companies." 

If  Benjamin  expected  to  see  Adrane  stagger 
under  the  blow  he  was  disappointed. 

346 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"That  would  have  been  serious  news  an  hour 
ago,  Henry,"  was  all  Adrane  said. 

"I've  got  some  more  news  for  the  creditors' 
meeting  to-morrow,  John.  News  that  will  surprise 
them  and  surprise  you.  The  real  fight  has  just 
begun.  I  want  you  to  be  there.  Don't  fail  me." 

Adrane  looked  at  Benjamin  frankly.  "You  have 
been  fair  with  me  to-night  and  I  want  to  be  fair 
with  you:  I  am  leaving  for  Crossrips  on  the  mid- 
night train."  He  took  out  his  watch.  "I  have 
barely  time  now  to  make  it.  I  can't  be  with  you 
to-morrow." 

"Can't!"  cried  Benjamin,  incensed.  "You  must 
be.  Mr.  Hamersley  is  coming  down  from  Cross- 
rips  to-morrow  for  it." 

"I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you.  Nothing  would 
hold  me.  I  must  be  at  Crossrips  to-morrow  after- 
noon." 

"No,  see  here,  hold  on."  Adrane  was  already 
at  the  front  door.  Entreaties  and  threats  were 
useless.  Adrane  with  only  repeated  thanks  and 
farewells  hastened  down  street  with  Benjamin, 
bareheaded  on  the  doorstep,  talking  after  him. 
The  pugnacious  broker  returned  to  the  card-table, 
still  shaking  his  head.  "I  give  the  man  credit," 
he  declared,  sitting  down.  "I  give  him  credit. 
Nothing  shakes  him.  What's  trumps  again, 
mother?" 

347 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Hearts.     Who  was  it  came,  Henry?" 

"It  was  only  the  Jack  of  hearts,  mother. 
Play." 

"Jack  of  hearts,  crazy  man!  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  mean  it  was  only  another  crazy  man,  John 
Adrane." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"Hot-footing  it  to  Forty-second  Street  for  the 
New  England  Express.  He  is  the  least  worried, 
the  coldest  man  in  trouble,  I  ever  paddled  in  a 
canoe  with.  But  I've  suspected  before  he's  dead 
in  love  with  Merrilie  Dawes — now,  I  know  it." 

His  wife  regarded  his  observation  incredulously. 
"Why,  Henry!  What  are  you  talking  about? 
Mr.  Adrane  has  been  engaged  to  Annie  Whitney 
for  a  year  almost." 

Benjamin  knit  his  brows.  "I  don't  care  whom 
he's  engaged  to,  mother;  I  know  whom  he  is  in 
love  with.  Never  mind  these  high-fliers.  You 
can't  tell  anything  about  such  people:  they  do  as 
they  please.  And  if  she  isn't  dead  in  love  with 
him,  tell  me  why  she  throws  two,  three,  four  mil- 
lion dollars  a  day  after  him?  That  isn't  mere  ad- 
miration, is  it?  Not  three  or  four  millions  a  day; 
it's  too  much.  Anyway,  I  guess  I  made  no  mis- 
take in  telling  John  what  he  could  have  found 
out  from  Amos  Hamersley  to-morrow  by  asking. 

348 


Merrilie  Dawes 

And  now  I  get  Hamersley  down  from  Crossrips  to 
meet  Kneeland  and  McCrea  and  Adrane  to-mor- 
row, and  Adrane  goes  up  to  Crossrips  to-night! 
I'll  be  in  things,  some.  Come,  mother,  play. 
Jack  of  hearts!" 

"It's  your  play;  what  did  he  want?'* 
"I    told    you    what    he    wanted — the    queen; 
Merrilie." 


349 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MRS.  HAMERSLEY,  in  her  room  at  Cross- 
rips,  was  thinking  seriously  of  rising. 
She  rang  to  ask  about  Merrilie,  and  on  learning 
that  she  was  in  her  room  Mrs.  Hamersley  sum- 
moned her.  Merrilie  appeared,  dressed  very  sim- 
ply in  white  and  with  her  Panama  hat  tailored  as 
plainly  as  her  gown.  Her  face  was  perhaps  a  lit- 
tle whiter,  but  all  in  all,  Mrs.  Hamersley  thought 
Merrilie  bore  the  overwhelming  change  in  her  for- 
tunes remarkably  well  and  her  white  face  gave  a 
slightly  sweeter  appeal  to  her  eyes.  "Child," 
demanded  Mrs.  Hamersley  as  Merrilie  kissed  her, 
"where  are  you  going?" 

Merrilie  sat  down  beside  the  bed.  "Just  for  a 
little  walk." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  walk?" 

"Somewhere  over  the  moors." 

"I  am  going  over  after  a  while  with  Captain 
Coffin  and  Orrin  after  the  mail,"  announced  Mrs. 
Hamersley.  "And  Coffin  says  the  light-ship  is 
flying  the  guest  signal." 

"Whom  are  you  expecting?"  asked  Merrilie. 

"Nobody.  It  must  be  a  mistake.  But  it's 
350 


Merrilie  Dawes 

such  a  lovely  morning  you'd  better  come  along, 
anyway." 

Merrilie  shook  her  head:  "No,  I'm  for  the 
moors.  This  is  my  farewell  tramp." 

"What  is  this  I  hear  about  your  being  in  the 
kitchen  this  morning?" 

Merrilie,  holding  her  gloves,  put  her  right  hand 
up  to  her  lips:  "I  went  down  to  make  some  gin- 
gerbread for  Mr.  Hamersley.  You  know  he  said 
I  couldn't  make  it.  I  burned  my  finger,  of  course. 
I  made  a  sala.de  chiffonade  for  dinner,  too." 

"Gingerbread!  You  must  be  getting  ready  to 
be  some  poor  man's  wife,  honey." 

"Not  at  all.  I  wrote  Edith  I  was  coming  over 
to  wed  the  Adriatic — there's  really  nothing  else 
for  me  to  do.  I  couldn't  stand  being  a  poor 
man's  wife.  It  would  be  horrid.  We  think  we 
can  do  these  things,  auntie,  but  we  can't.  We  are 
helpless  creatures  of  environment.  What  could 
I  do  as  a  'poor*  wife  for  anybody?" 

"You  could  make  gingerbread  for  your  husband 
— nothing  could  be  more  democratic.  Where  is 
your  Aunt  Jane,  by  the  way?" 

"Well,  not  wishing  Aunt  Jane  any  bad  luck,  I 
hope  she  is  going  to  stay  here  with  Mrs.  Tilden. 
Rose  and  I  are  going  to  Edith  alone.  I  told  Rose 
if  she  would  stay  with  me  till  then  I  would  divide 
all  my  old  belongings  with  her." 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  hear  Rose  is  dissolved  in  tears.'* 

"I  wish  she  were  more  stoical,"  sighed  Mer- 
rilie, fastening  her  hatpins  as  she  rose.  "I'll  be 
back  before  you  are,  auntie." 

"Why  don't  you  drive?" 

"I'd  rather  walk." 

"Josephine,"  said  Mrs.  Hamersley  to  her  maid 
when  Merrilie  had  gone,  "if  you  ever  lose  all 
your  money,  just  remember  Miss  Merrilie  Dawes. 
Merrilie  down  to  a  single  cabin  on  an  Italian  boat 
for  herself  and  maid !  If  she  isn't  a  world's  won- 
der. Gingerbread!" 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Hamersley  sat  on  the  deck 
of  her  launch,  passing  Madaket  Head.  Orrin  came 
back  from  the  wheel.  He  pointed  to  the  cliffs. 
"There's  Miss  Merrilie  waving  at  you." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  looked  toward  shore.  "Wa- 
ving at  me?  Where,  Orrin?" 

"Right  up  there  at  the  Head."  He  handed 
Mrs.  Hamersley  a  glass  and  gave  her  the  direc- 
tion. "See  that  bit  of  white  against  the  sky-line? 
That's  her." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  looked  carefully.  "How  could 
she  get  so  far  by  this  time?" 

Orrin  laughed.  "Miss  Merrilie  can  outwalk 
anybody  at  Crossrips." 

"She  is  waving  her  hand.  Run  up  a  signal, 
Orrin.  She  couldn't  see  it,  though." 

352 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"I  seen  her  read  the  time  of  day  on  the  old 
Unitarian  steeple  clock  from  the  jetties  once.  I 
used  to  be  able  to  do  it  myself,"  averred  the  mate, 
"before  I  had  the  rheumatism.  She  likes  the 
flag,"  he  said,  running  up  the  colors.  "Look  at 
that,"  he  added  proudly,  after  a  moment,  "she's 
saluting." 

"So  she  is,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hamersley.  "It  is 
a  shame  to  lose  an  American  girl  like  that,  Orrin." 

The  mate  smiled  wisely.  "She  won't  stay  with 
those  dagoes  long.  Look  at  her  waving." 

Shooting  out  across  the  shoals,  the  launch  soon 
lost  Madaket  Head.  Mrs.  Hamersley  sat  in  a 
study  until  the  fast-moving  craft  approached 
Crossrips  light-ship.  Slowly  pacing  the  deck  of 
the  latter  and  looking  at  intervals  toward  the  ap- 
proaching boat,  Mrs.  Hamersley  saw  the  tall 
figure  of  a  man  reflecting  in  manner  the  nervous 
expectancy  of  a  traveller.  Orrin  in  the  launch 
tender  brought  off  the  mail  and  the  traveller 
with  it.  Mrs.  Hamersley,  sitting  under  the  rear 
deck  awning,  recognized,  to  her  surprise,  John 
Adrane. 

She  went  forward  to  meet  him  at  the  side  and 
extended  her  hand.  "Welcome,  John."  He  looked 
very  care-worn,  she  saw.  "Welcome,"  she  re- 
peated lazily.  "But  I'm  afraid  the  bird  you  want 

has  flown " 

353 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Adrane  regarded  her  with  anxiety.  "Flown?" 
he  echoed.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Amos  is  in  New  York." 

"But  Merrilie?" 

"Merrilie?     Why,  she's  with  me,  of  course." 

His  face  lightened.  Mrs.  Hamersley  laughed  at 
the  familiar,  homely,  amiable  smile.  She  called 
it  John's  silly  smile,  but  it  was  touched  now  by 
something  deeper  and  sterner.  "Then  the  bird 
hasn't  flown,"  he  said  with  relief.  The  launch  was 
already  headed  for  home.  "It's  Merrilie  that  I 
want  to  see." 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  Merrilie  about?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Hamersley,  maintaining  her  lazy 
manner  of  inquiry. 

"About  my  marriage,"  he  answered  recklessly. 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Are  you 
going  to  get  married,  John?" 

He  countered  with  a  question.  "Shouldn't  you 
think  me  a  promising  subject?" 

"I  didn't  so  much  as  intimate  on  that  score. 
Answer  my.  question:  Are  you  going  to  get  mar- 
ried?" 

"I  can't  tell  till  I  see  Merrilie." 

"What  has  Merrilie  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  want  Merrilie's  advice.     How  is  she?" 

"You  know  what  has  happened?" 

"Has  she  lost  everything?" 
354 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Everything." 

Adrane's  jaw  set.  "Annie  told  me  so  last  night," 
he  said  sternly.  "I  couldn't  believe  it." 

"It  is  true." 

He  shrank.  "I  would  rather  have  lost  my  right 
hand." 

"We  know  it  isn't  your  fault,  John.  But  it's  a 
terrible  tragedy  just  the  same,"  continued  Mrs. 
Hamersley.  "Merrilie  had  no  more  business 
plunging  in  Steel  than  I  had — not  a  bit.  Why 
did  she  do  it?  So  you  are  going  to  marry  An- 
nie?" 

"No " 

Mrs.  Hamersley  drew  herself  up.  "John  Ad- 
rane,  what  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded  feebly. 

Adrane  faced  her  surprise  stoically.  "Annie 
broke  our  engagement  last  night."  Mrs.  Ham- 
ersley stared.  "She  is  greatly  relieved,  I  am 
sure." 

Mrs.  Hamersley  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Well, 
that  is  news."  She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "I 
should  hardly  expect  Annie  to  throw  you  over  just 
because  you're  in  trouble.  Her  mother  might. 
But,"  she  added  reflectively,  "you  two  never 
were  crazy  about  each  other,  as  far  as  I  could 
see." 

"How  is  Merrilie?"  asked  Adrane  anxiously. 
"How  does  she  stand  it,  Mrs.  Hamersley?" 

355 


Merrilie  Dawes 

?  "How  should  you  expect  Merrilie  to  stand  it?" 
returned  Mrs.  Hamersley  reproachfully.  "Pro- 
fessing the  coldest  indifference,  and  in  reality  eat- 
ing her  heart  out.  Her  home  gone,  everything  in 
it  dispersed  and  disposed  of,  every  dollar  she  could 
rake  and  scrape  gone  to  her  creditors;  her  fiendish 
old  aunt  crucifying  her  with  threats,  abuse,  cal- 
umnies, and  humiliations  such  as  only  she  is  ca- 
pable of  inflicting;  Mrs.  Tilden  practically  ditto 
through  it  all,  and  poor  Tilden  consistently  and  glo- 
riously drunk — and  all  of  Merrilie's  affairs  in  help- 
less confusion.  My  Lord,  what  that  child  hasn't 
been  through!  I  told  her  yesterday  just  what  she 
must  do.  Merrilie  must  marry  a  rich  man.  She 
can  do  it.  She  has  good  looks — though,  perhaps, 
her  face  is  a  little  thin." 

"No,"  exclaimed  Adrane  hotly.  "It  isn't  thin. 
Merrilie  Dawes  is  a  beautiful  woman." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Hamersley,  rapidly  perceiving  the 
light,  drew  in  a  breath  and  exclaimed,  "except 
that,  perhaps  she  is.  She  certainly  is  intelligent 
and  clever,  and  with  the  proper  background  of 
means  would  make  a  good  wife.  She  is  no^fitted 
for  a  poor  man's  wife  and  she  knows  it — and  said 
so,  this  very  morning." 

Adrane  drank  the  cup  in  silence.  "She  has 
made  a  liberal  provision  for  her  miserable  old 
aunt,"  Mrs.  Hamersley  rambled  on,  "though  her 

356 


Merrilie  Dawes 

father  never  would  do  it.  And  Edith  she  gave  a 
princely  dot  when  she  was  married,  besides  the 
palazzo  on  the  Grand  Canal  and  the  Cadore  estate 
in  the  Dolomites.  Poor  Tilden  is  the  one  most 
on  Merrilie's  conscience — the  child  really  doesn't 
think  about  herself.  I  told  Merrilie  yesterday 
that  Amos  would  take  care  of  Tilden.  He  can 
make  him  president  of  one  of  his  wild-west  rail- 
roads. Well,  why  not?" 

Adrane  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "You  are 
certainly  a  wonder,  Mrs.  Hamersley." 

"Amos  told  me  he  has  been  trying  to  induce  you 
to  take  the  job  of  looking  after  our  galaxy  of  rail- 
way presidents.  Why  don't  you  do  it,  John? 
He  said  he  offered  you  seventy-five  thousand  dol- 
lars and  a  lot  of  passes.  That's  more  than  he  gives 
me  for  looking  after  him." 

Adrane  smiled  helplessly.  "I  am  so  mixed  up  in 
every  way  just  now,  I  told  him.  I  may  be  glad  to, 
when  I  can  get  straightened  out.  I  know  it  is  a 
fine  offer — particularly  to  a  beggar." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hamersley 
with  resentment.  "Merely  a  magnate  in  eclipse, 
John;  a  billionaire  in  the  making.  Amos  used  to 
be  that  way  all  the  time./>Once  when  he  thought 
we  were  rich  we  had  a  railroad  out  West.  Amos 
was  president.  The  hard  times  came  on  and  they 
kept  reducing  him  down  toward  the  bottom  until 

357 


Merrilie  Dawes 

he  was  only  superintendent.  Upon  my  word,  if 
I  hadn't  protested  they  would  have  had  him 
sweeping  out  the  passenger  coaches." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  traded  an  old  building  of  father's,  down  in 
Wall  Street,  for  another  railroad.  And  pretty 
soon  we  had  both  the  railroads  and  the  building 
back  again — that's  the  way  it  goes.  You  mustn't 
mind  little  things.  So  Annie  threw  you  over,"  she 
mused,  regarding  him  critically.  "Well — you  are 
having  your  own  troubles,  aren't  you?" 

"My  engagement  was  a  trouble.  It  was  a  mis- 
take from  the  beginning.  When  Annie  broke  it  I 
felt  as  if  a  millstone  were  off  me." 

"I  should  think  as  much  from  the  way  you  talk 
— getting  advice  already  about  marrying  some  one 
else.  You  men!  Whom  are  you  wanting  to 
marry  now?" 

Adrane  made  a  hopeless  gesture.  It  required 
little  to  unnerve  him,  and  Mrs.  Hamersley's  view 
of  Merrilie's  needs  had  been  enough.  "No  one,  I 
guess,"  he  said,  looking  moodily  toward  Crossrips 
as  the  familiar  shoulders  of  Madaket  Head  out- 
lined themselves. 

"Oh,  come:  no  nonsense  with  me.  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  ought  to  do,  even  if  she  is  poor.  You 
ought  to  marry  Merrilie." 

He  started  forward,  his  hands  grasping  his 
358 


Merrilie  Dawes 

chair.  "  If  she  would  even  dream  of  marrying  me, 
I  would  swim  to  Madaket  Head  to  ask  her." 

Mrs.  Hamersley,  quite  undisturbed,  looked  to- 
ward shore.  "She  was  walking  up  near  the  light- 
house when  we  left.  Do  you  see  anything  on  the 
cliffs  that  looks  white,  John?" 

Adrane  with  burning  eyes  scanned  the  barren 
shore.  But  no  girlish  figure  could  he  anywhere 
discover  and  he  turned  from  the  search  depressed. 
In  the  final  moments  of  his  precipitous  journey 
from  New  York  apprehension  now  seized  him. 
He  questioned  whether  it  was  not  presumptuous 
in  him  to  invade  Merrilie's  seclusion.  Suppose 
she,  like  others,  should  reproach  him  as  the  cause 
of  her  misfortunes?  It  would  be  just:  but  how 
could  he  face  her  reproaches,  even  if  unspoken  they 
showed  in  her  eyes.  The  anticipation  of  such  a 
scene  benumbed  his  faculties.  And  this  he  was 
gloomily  picturing  when  the  launch  rounded  Teal 
Point  and  there,  sitting  on  the  pier  bench  in  the 
flooding  sunshine,  Adrane  saw  Merrilie. 


359 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THERE  were  many  things  that  Adrane  might 
at  times  make  mistakes  about,  but  never 
at  any  time  was  he  uncertain  about  recognizing 
Merrilie  at  any  distance.  In  his  excitement  he 
stood  at  Mrs.  Hamersley's  side  waving  his  hand 
toward  her  with  a  confidence  he  did  not  alto- 
gether feel.  Nor  did  Merrilie  commit  herself 
beyond  responding  pleasantly  with  her  handker- 
chief. But  when  he  came  nearer  and  she  made 
sure  who  was  greeting  her,  her  face  lighted  with 
the  welcome  that  always  animated  him  when  he 
met  her. 

He  handed  Mrs.  Hamersley  up  the  landing- 
stairs.  He  realized  in  the  next  instant  he  should 
touch  Merrilie's  hand. 

She  was  greatly  surprised,  even  a  little  fluttered. 
"Why,  John  Adrane!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  to 
him  for  an  explanation  of  his  presence. 

Mrs.  Hamersley,  who  could  fabricate  with  non- 
chalance, volunteered  that  he  had  come  up  to  see 
Mr.  Hamersley.  And  at  this,  two  hearts  took  a 
respite  of  courage  for  the  dreaded  encounter  that 

360 


Merrilie  Dawes 

one  knew  was  to  come  and  the  other  instinctively 
feared,  from  the  eagerness  of  a  slow  man's  eyes, 
might  come  at  any  instant. 

The  greetings  were  hardly  over  before  Mrs. 
Hamersley  resolved  to  put  them  without  delay 
to  the  test.  She  had  forgotten  in  her  excitement 
to  call  at  the  village  for  a  friend  for  luncheon — • 
would  Merrilie  go  with  Adrane  in  the  launch  and 
bring  her  across?  Adrane  was  eager.  Merrilie 
said,  "Of  course,  Mrs.  Hamersley,"  but  she  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  handed  down  by  Adrane,  al- 
most like  one  condemned.  Something  pricking 
in  her  finger-tips  told  her  of  impending  danger, 
yet  there  was  a  deadly  fascination  in  anticipating 
it.  At  moments  this  fascination  was  so  strong 
that  Merrilie  grew  reckless.  The  moment  the 
boat  started  she  took  a  wicker  chair  under  a 
diminutive  awning,  but  Adrane  was  already  in 
another  chair  as  close  as  could  be  and  appre- 
hension was  knocking  at  her  expectant  heart. 

"Annie  is  home,"  Adrane  began,  almost  the 
instant  they  were  seated.  "I  learned  by  the  mer- 
est accident  last  night  through  Oliver,"  he  con- 
tinued, "that  she  landed  Thursday.  I  went  to 
see  her  at  once.  We  had  a  perfectly  friendly  and 
frank  little  talk.  She  broke  the  engagement." 

"Broke  it?"  echoed  Merrilie  helplessly. 

He  repeated  the  exact  words  of  his  conference 
361 


Merrilie  Dawes 

with  Annie.  "And  she  told  me,  Merrilie,"  he  went 
on,  "that  you,  through  my  own  wretched  failure, 
had  lost  everything.  Every  blow  that  has  fallen 
seemed  a  blessing  compared  with  that.  I  could 
not  eat  nor  sleep  till  I  saw  you.  You  know, 
you  must  know,  I  admire,  esteem,  love  you 
above  all  other  women.  To  think  that  through 
me  you  have  suffered  these  horrible  losses — it 
kills  me." 

"John,"  she  said  firmly,  "that  is  all  wrong. 
Look  up."  He  looked  at  her.  "As  usual," 
she  continued  composedly,  "you  are  shouldering 
everything  that  belongs  to  you  and  much  that 
doesn't.  You  are  in  no  way  responsible  for  my 
foolish  conduct.  You  distinctly  begged  me,  when 
you  suspected  I  was  buying  Steel,  to  keep  out  of 
it — have  you  forgotten?  The  past  is  past.  I 
don't  want  to  discuss  it."  She  looked  frankly 
into  his  eyes.  "I  know  you  think  kindly  of  me. 
It  is  like  you,  John,  to  express  your  sympathy 
warmly.  I  prize  your  friendship,  believe  me " 

"But,  Merrilie " 

Merrilie  shook  her  head.  "And  I  hope  I  shall 
always  deserve  it." 

"But,  Merrilie " 

"John,  Orrin  is  looking  at  us!" 

"But,  Merrilie,  I  love  you." 

"Please  move  your  chair  away,  John,"  Merrilie 
362 


Merrilie  Dawes 

insisted,  withdrawing  her  own  from  the  range  of 
vision  of  the  watchful  mr  -.e. 

"I  want  to  ask  you,"  he  persisted,  moving  his 
chair  feverishly  after  her,  "if,  in  spite  of  all  this 
horrible  mess,  Merrilie,  you  would  marry  me?" 

"Orrin,  I  think,  is  moving  also,"  observed  Mer- 
rilie, giving  her  chair  a  vigorous  hitch  to  starboard 
which  was  followed  by  a  like  one  from  Adrane. 
She  drew  her  handkerchief.  But  she  could  not 
drive  the  blood  from  her  pink  temples.  "It  is 
the  kindness  of  your  heart  that  makes  you  speak," 
was  all  she  said. 

"Merrilie!"  exclaimed  Adrane  despairingly, 
"it  is  my  longing  for  you  that  makes  me  speak. 
It  isn't  new.  You  must  have  known  this  a  long 
time — haven't  you?  Look  at  me  with  your  dear, 
blue  eyes.  Tell  me — haven't  you?" 

"I  thought  you  liked  me,  John.  And  I  will  be 
honest:  I  prize  your  offer,  believe  me.  But  I  will 
never  marry  any  man,  rich  or  poor,  to  be  a  drag 
on  him.  I  can  bring  nothing  to  any  one  now.  I 
should  be  a  useless  ornament." 

"You  make  everything  work  against  me,"  he 
remonstrated.  "When  you  were  wealthy,  I  loved 
you  and  I  was  tied  with  Annie.  I  wanted  to 
break  my  engagement  because  I  loved  you.  You 
wouldn't  let  me.  I  didn't  go  to  extremes  because 
I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me  a  fortune- 

363 


Merrilie  Dawes 

hunter.  Now  that  I  am  poor,  Annie  frees  me — 
something  I  couldn't  have  hoped  for  before.  And 
you  have  lost  everything  through  me." 

"No,  not  through  you " 

"And  now,"  he  persisted,  cutting  her  off,  "Mrs, 
Hamersley  tells  me  you  must  have  a  man  of  large 
means  for  a  husband!  It  is  hopeless.  I'd  better 
jump  into  the  sea." 

"But  Mrs.  Hamersley  isn't  choosing  a  husband 
for  me!"  retorted  Merrilie,  raising  her  head  with 
surprising  spirit.  "I  expect  to  choose  my  own,  I 
hope!" 

"You  say  you  are  not  fitted  for  a  poor  man's 
wife " 

"I  said  I  didn't  want  to  be  a  drag  on  a  poor 
man,  John." 

"It's  the  same  thing." 

"It  isn't " 

"You  don't  want  to  marry  me." 

Merrilie  objected  decidedly.  "It's  not  the 
same  thing "  ; 

"Now  you  talk  of  my  offering  myself  through 
sympathy!" 

"Well,  John" — Merrilie  was  demure — "you 
mustn't  blame  me  for  wanting  to  be  sure  it  isn't 
sympathy." 

"Merrilie,  I  will  work  forever  to  make  you 
happy.  Don't  depreciate  my  devotion.  I  wanted 

364 


Merrilie  Dawes 

long  ago  to  speak  out.  You  never  would  let 
me." 

Orrin,  seemingly  possessed  of  a  devil,  came  for- 
ward to  shift  the  awning  where  it  would  shade 
the  engrossed  lovers  in  their  new  retreat.  Merrilie 
looked  meaningly  at  Adrane  as  the  faithful  sea- 
dog  struggled  behind  them  with  the  canvas.  She 
put  such  mischief,  sympathy,  encouragement  into 
that  look!  She  laid  her  hand  so  unconsciously  on 
Adrane's  hand,  and  with  such  instinctive  dis- 
trust in  her  eye  for  Orrin,  that  Adrane,  though 
wholly  undismayed,  was  obliged  to  desist. 

The  two,  after  they  had  performed  their  errand 
and  brought  over  the  guest,  walked  up  from  the 
pier  together.  But  Merrilie  insisted  on  an  ar- 
mistice. At  luncheon,  both  were  visibly  restless. 
When  Adrane  asked  Merrilie,  the  moment  their 
hostess  rose  from  the  table,  if  she  would  sail  she 
made  only  the  lamest  pretence  of  declining.  And 
as  they  afterward  moved  together  leisurely  across 
the  terrace  toward  the  long  flight  of  steps  to  the 
pier,  Mrs.  Hamersley  heard  Merrilie  laugh.  It 
was  the  laugh  that  comes  to  a  woman  when  her 
lover  has  spoken  and  she  knows  he  will  not  long 
be  denied.  Mrs.  Hamersley  only  sighed. 

Orrin  was  making  the  catboat  ready  when  the 
two  reached  the  landing-stairs.  It  was  impossible 
to  say  that  Merrilie  was  excited.  She  watched 

365 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Orrin  raise  the  boom  and  held  tightly  in  her  arm  a 
tiny  camera  as  if  its  safety  were  her  chief  concern. 
Every  move  the  busy  mate  made,  whether  to 
throw  the  cushions  uselessly  from  side  to  side  of 
the  pit  or  officiously  to  sound  the  well,  seemed  to 
Merrilie  intended  from  all  time  to  prelude  what 
was  coming  before  the  sun  should  set  again.  It 
was  her  day,  Merrilie  well  knew,  her  hour  out  of  all 
eternity,  to  listen,  to  glow,  to  yield  herself  pledged. 
She  was  going  out  this  evening  with  the  great  tide, 
free,  and  coming  in  with  it  toward  the  setting 
sun,  bound.  And  in  it  all  she  was  only  extremely 
fastidious  in  every  step  and  movement.  Her  voice 
was  modulated  until  its  calculated  indifference 
would  deceive  no  woman  though  it  might  be- 
wilder many  men.  Her  eyes  like  her  ears  were  no 
more  than  ordinarily  alert.  And  she  could  speak 
and  answer  without  letting  her  eyes  meet  Ad- 
rane's  eyes  long  at  a  time.  She  was  too  much 
occupied  with  the  wind  and  waves  and  horizon 
even  to  look  Adrane's  way  as  Orrin,  on  the  pier, 
cast  off. 

Adrane  himself,  stimulated  by  the  situation, 
fouled  with  his  topping-lift  the  mast  of  Orrin's  own 
little  catboat,  and  before  he  could  clear,  the  big 
boat  slowly  capsized  the  tiny  one.  Merrilie  gave 
no  heed  whatever  to  the  accident;  instead  of  a 
suppressed  scream  from  a  timid  girl  there  was  an 

366 


Merrilie  Dawes 

unrestrained  laugh.  The  small  boat,  ballasted, 
slowly  sank — what  was  a  catboat  more  or  less  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea  in  a  moment  that  had  cost 
the  budget  of  a  navy  to  bring  about? 

From  the  pier,  Orrin  shouted  to  Adrane  never 
to  mind  but  to  go  on,  and  Adrane,  weighing  the 
responsibilities  of  the  moment,  did  go  on.  Close- 
hauled,  he  rounded  the  point  and  headed  for  the 
open  sea.  The  wind  came  from  the  north.  Mer- 
rilie took  the  wheel  while  Adrane,  going  forward, 
shook  out  a  reef.  When  he  came  back  Merrilie 
rose  to  give  him  his  place.  He  held  she  had  always 
been  the  better  sailor,  whether  in  a  catboat  or  out, 
and  sat  down  close  beside  her  to  watch  her  quick 
eye  glance  at  the  telltale  and  come  back  to  the  sail 
and  rest  upon  the  waves,  marvelling  how  so  slight 
a  creature  could  do  this  and  respond  to  all  his 
questions  as  briskly  as  if  she  had  nothing  what- 
ever on  her  mind. 

It  seemed  to  Adrane  and  Merrilie  as  if  they  had 
really  never  talked  together  before.  Now,  at  all 
events,  there  were  practically  no  reserves — every- 
thing was  overhauled  to  be  explained;  and  there 
was  so  much  that  needed  explaining,  some  of  it 
more  than  once.  The  hours  went  like  the  wind, 
unheeded.  Adrane  had  the  wheel  when  Merrilie 
told  him  it  was  time  to  come  about  for  home. 

"  But  suppose  I  refuse  to  come  about,  Merrilie?" 
demanded  Adrane. 

367 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Suppose  I  should  insist  on  going  on  and  on — 
what  should  you  do?" 

She  was  sitting  extremely  close  to  the  wheel  her- 
self. The  setting  sun  was  bright  yet  over  the  wide 
waters.  In  the  east  the  sails  of  a  collier  were  out- 
lined against  the  blue  sky.  "I  am  only  a  passen- 
ger," returned  Merrilie  softly.  "You  are  skip- 
per. I  should  have  no  say  whatever  in  the  matter. 
I  shouldn't  do  anything.  But,  John,  there  is  one 
contingency  in  which  I  fancy  I  should  like  to  go 
on  forever."  He  had  already  come  into  the  wind 
and  they  were  waiting  for  the  boom  to  swing. 

"What  contingency?" 

"I  suppose  it's  an  absurdity.  You'll  laugh  at 
me,  John." 

"With  you — never  at  you,  Merrilie." 

"I  have  an  appalling  apprehension  that  Annie 
might  sue  you  for  breach  of  promise." 

Adrane  laughed  aloud  but  alone;  Merrilie 
looked  serious.  "It  wouldn't  be  any  joke,  I  can 
tell  you.  I  should  die  of  humiliation." 

"Annie  never  would  dream  of  such  a  thing " 

Merrilie  doubted.  "You  don't  know  Annie. 
She  was  horribly  jealous  of  me " 

"Annie  jealous?     Why,  I  can't  believe  it." 

"Oh,  can't  you!  Well,  I  can.  You  don't  know 
how  she  acted,  I  fancy.  The  day  she  came  to  me 
at  home,  just  after  our  escapade  at  Sea  Ridge,  she 

368 


Merrilie  Dawes 

pitched  into  me  as  if  I  had  taken  everything  in 
the  world  from  her.  I  was  afraid  of  my  life  even 
to  look  at  you." 

"Merrilie?"  demanded  Adrane  as  they  sat  close 
together. 

"What?" 

"Did  you  ever  feel  inclined  to  relieve  her  of  any 
of  her  burdens?" 

"What  a  brazen  question,  John  Adrane!  No,  of 
course  not." 

Adrane  looked  disappointed.  "I  hoped  you 
might  perhaps  some  time  have  felt,  very  faintly, 
such  an  inclination." 

"Upon  my  word!" 

"I  hoped  you  might  have  cared  just  a  trifle  for 
me  even  then." 

"Well."  Merrilie  drew  a  deep  breath.  She 
lifted  her  eyebrows,  pouted  a  little,  slipped  her 
disengaged  hand  down  to  her  belt.  "I  don't  say 
I  disliked  you.  You  didn't  act  as  if  you  disliked 
me.  But" — she  looked  with  conscious  innocence 
at  Adrane  as  she  added,  "that  wasn't  trying  my 
best  to  get  you  away  from  her,  was  it?" 

Adrane  laughed.     "Certainly  not." 

"If  I  had  just  felt  free  to  do  exactly  as  I  liked," 
continued  Merrilie  pugnaciously.  "I  said  to  my- 
self— after  she  abused  me  so — I'd  just  like  to  show 
you  my  best  with  your  great  catch,  pretty  Annie! 

369 


Merrilie  Dawes 

That's  what  Mrs.  Whitney  was  always  drumming 
in  my  ears,  'Annie's  great  catch,'  meaning,  of 
course,  I  couldn't  catch  anybody.  After  I  met 
you — oh,  how  can  I  say  it,  John? — I,  some  way, 
couldn't  try  to  catch  anybody — that's  the  real 
truth.  You  robbed  me  of  my  cunning.  But  I 
gave  Annie  every  chance  to  hold  you — didn't  I? 
She  did  hold  you  a  good  while,  didn't  she  ? "  Mer- 
rilie looked  judicially  toward  Madaket  Head  and 
held  her  arching  brows  high. 

"According  to  the  nominal  bond,  perhaps." 

"I  never  gave  you  the  slightest  encouragement, 
did  I?" 

She  looked  at  him  solemnly.  When  he  looked 
back  she  could  stand  it  only  for  an  instant.  They 
burst  into  a  laugh  together.  "No,  now,  really," 
persisted  Merrilie,  "did  I?" 

"Not  what  you  could  really  call  encourage- 
ment," answered  Adrane.  "I  just  kept  getting 
crazier  about  you  all  the  time."  He  drew  himself 
up. 

"But  I  couldn't  help  that,  could  I?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"No.  And  if  you  hadn't  been  such  a  divinity, 
Merrilie — so  far  above  me,  and  so  far  away  from 
me — I  could  have  shaken  myself  free  sooner." 

"But  I  wouldn't  have  had  you  in  that  way, 
John;  I  couldn't.  Do  you  think  I  could  have 

370 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Annie  pointing  at  me  the  rest  of  her  life  and  say- 
ing, thief?  My  gracious!  And,  for  that  matter,- 
all  girls  enthroned  behind  generous  fortunes  seem 
divinities,  no  doubt.  Thank  Heaven,  all  this  is 
behind  me.  I  feel  so  free  since  I'm  poor.  I  am 
down  where  people  can  see  all  my  faults  and 
blemishes  and  defects.  And  there  won't  be  any 
more  nonsense  about  thrones  and  divinities." 

His  voice  fell  lower  than  she  had  ever  heard  it. 
"Oh,  Merrilie!  How  can  I  ever  hope  to  be  worthy 
of  you?" 

She  held  up  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand. 
"Look  at  my  burn,  John,"  she  murmured  plain- 
tively. He  caught  the  hand  in  his  own  and  kissed 
it  eagerly.  "I  did  it  making  gingerbread  for  Mr. 
Hamersley  this  morning,"  she  struggled  to  say, 
while  looking  perfectly  unconcerned.  "You  don't 
even  ask  whether  it  hurts,"  she  complained,  try- 
ing to  draw  the  injured  finger  away. 

Adrane  bent  over  her.  She  was  startled  at 
what  she  had  lighted  in  his  eyes.  She  real- 
ized only  vaguely  he  had  dropped  the  wheel,  and 
felt  herself  dreamily  sinking  deeper  and  deeper 
into  an  embrace  that  almost  took  her  senses  but 
only  to  give  back  to  her  all  she  had  ever  asked 
of  the  fickle,  weary  world.  For  an  instant  she 
ceased  to  struggle  and  his  lips  burned  upon  hers. 

The  boat  lurched.     A  shower  of  spray  swept 


Merrilie  Dawes 

aft.  His  left  hand  was  on  the  wheel  again,  she 
knew.  Neither  spoke.  Sitting  within  his  arm, 
Merrilie  could  feel  his  deep  breathing  as  he  rig- 
idly held  her  and  bent  his  eyes  into  the  night 
ahead.  She  had  clutched,  without  realizing  it,  his 
bony  fingers  at  her  side,  and  with  her  own  eyes 
straining  into  her  new  future  she  heard  his  low 
and  pleading  words.  When  he  begged  her  to  an- 
swer she  realized  how  faint  and  relaxed  she  was. 
"I  don't  want  to  be  a  drag  on  you,  John,"  she 
faltered.  "I  meant  what  I  said,  really.  I  like 
you  too  much  to  stand  in  your  way  of  newer  and 
greater  successes — truly,  I  do." 

"You  will  be  my  dearest  success,  Merrilie,  if  I 
can  ever  achieve  you.  If  you  want  to  encourage 
me  to  every  effort,  say  you  will  be  my  wife." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  speak.  But  she 
knew  John  and  his  patience.  He  had  caught  her 
right  hand  under  his  own  at  her  waist  and  nothing 
in  the  situation  was  really  being  lost. 

"Merrilie?"  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  you  burned 
your  hand.  Does  it  hurt  very  much  ? " 

Merrilie  drew  a  deep  breath:  "I  don't  suppose 
I  ought  to  care  now  whether  it  hurts." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

"Because  it  isn't  mine  any  more." 
372 


Merrilie  Dawes 

She  felt  herself  again  swept  up  in  a  dream. 
Afterward,  her  head  rested  limply  against  his 
shoulder.  It  was  long  before  she  woke  from  her 
vision.  She  started,  scrutinized  the  horizon  across 
the  waste  of  twilight,  and  looked,  sailor-like,  at  the 
canvas:  "We're  past  Madaket  Head,  John,"  she 
said  softly. 

"Forever,  I  hope,  Merrilie.'* 
"The  tide  is  with  us  to-night." 
"It  was  against  us  a  long,  long  while." 
"Take  the  two  towers  for  your  range  between 
the  rips.     They  will  carry  us  straight  home." 


373 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SOME  time  after  the  Christmas  holidays  Mrs. 
Whitney,  calling  on  Mrs.  Hamersley,  found 
her  at  home.  And  experience  in  timing  Mrs. 
Whitney's  visits  as  precursors  of  coming  events 
led  Mrs.  Hamersley  to  look  for  some  interesting 
announcement. 

She  was  not  disappointed:  "You  know,  Kate, 
how  long  Harry  Drake  and  Annie  have  been  good 
friends,"  premised  Mrs.  Whitney,  whose  voice  with 
her  slight  deafness  gained  in  clarity  and  strength. 
"And  it  isn't  the  first  time — though  this  is  a 
secret,  of  course — that  Harry  has  sought  the  dear 
girl's  hand.  If  Mr.  Adrane  hadn't  so  completely 
turned  the  child's  head  with  his  spectacular  per- 
formances I  really  think  Harry  would  have  won 
her  a  year  ago " 

"You  don't  mean,"  drawled  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
"when  he  was  pursuing  Merrilie  so  energetically?" 

"My  dear  Kate!  There  was  no  pursuit  what- 
ever on  Harry's  part,  of  Merrilie:  I  happen  to 
know  all  about  it.  Harry  was  only  trying  to  coun- 
sel her  wisely,  to  keep  her  from  losing  her  fortune 
through  rash  speculation — their  fathers  were  such 

374 


Merrilie  Dawes 

friends,  you  know.  Every  one  thought  so  highly 
of  Mr.  Dawes  and  it  has  seemed  such  a  pity  to 
see  his  magnificent  fortune  swept  away  in  reckless 
ventures  like  John  Adrane's.  I  feel  as  if  it  had 
taught  us  all  a  great  lesson — his  utter  collapse. 
And  our  own  conservative  young  men,  like  Harry 
Drake,  brought  up  so  close  to  us  that  we  can't 
appreciate  them,  shine  now  in  their  true  light  as 
financiers  in  comparison  with  these  irresponsible 
outsiders  who  rush  dramatically  into  our  large 
monetary  circles  and  are  received  by  every  one 
with  open  arms,"  declared  Mrs.  Whitney  without 
pausing  for  breath.  "Don't  think  I  am  reproach- 
ing Mr.  Hamersley  at  all." 

"He  wouldn't  mind  it,  dear." 

"But  I  am  not.  We  are  all  to  blame,  all  of  us. 
And  it  has  been  a  lesson.  But  Harry  with  his 
conservatism  is  certainly  a  comfort.  And  this 
time  he  simply  wouldn't  take  'no'  for  an  answer. 
They  are  not  to  be  married  until  fall.  Of  course, 
it  is  a  relief  to  me  as  a  mother  to  see  dear  Annie 
settled  before  I  die.  And  Harry  is  so  kindly — 
you  know  him  well 

"Not  so  well  as  Amos  does." 

"No?" 

"Amos  usually  borrows  the  money  for  the  fam- 
ily, so  he  sees  more  of  Harry  than  I  do " 

"  Kate !     You  must  have  your  joke." 
375 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"That,  unfortunately,  is  no  joke.  But  I  have 
always  heard  that  Harry  is  kind-hearted  and  I 
think  he  will  make  Annie  perfectly  happy." 

"And  where  has  Merrilie  disappeared  to?  Some 
one  had  an  absurd  story  that  she  and  John  Adrane 
were  engaged?" 

"They  are  engaged  still." 

"Can  it  truly  be?  /  couldn't  believe  it.  But 
they  are  two  such — such " 

"Rattlebrains,"  suggested  Mrs.  Hamersley. 

Mrs.  Whitney  laughed  deprecatingly:  "They 
are  so  high-strung." 

"John  is  a  regular  jumping-jack,"  observed  Mrs. 
Hamersley  dryly. 

"I  don't  mean  that:  no  one  could  accuse  Mr. 
Adrane  of  ever  moving  rapidly.  And  is  Merrilie 
still  in  Italy?" 

"She  and  John  are  at  Senigallia  with  Edith." 

"Poor  Merrilie." 

"Edith  says  she  and  John  are  absurdly  happy. 
We  took  them  over  on  the  Divide,  you  remember, 
just  before  Thanksgiving.  John  came  back  with 
us  and  returned  to  Merrilie  last  month  after  he 
finally  won  the  receivership  fight  against  Harry. 
The  wedding  is  to  be  in  St.  Mark's  directly  after 
Easter.  A  regular  festa  and  the  church  illumi- 
nated in  the  evening;  a  real  old-time  Venetian 
wedding." 

376 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"For  Americans!" 

"But  Edith  is  giving  it,  dear,  and  she  is  a 
Mocenigo,  you  must  remember.  Why,  the  Hohen- 
zollerns  are  on  her  visiting  list.  It's  to  be  an 
affair." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 

"It's  to  be  an  affair " 

"  Really ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whitney  defensively. 
"Do  you  expect  to  go?" 

"We  shall  go,"  declared  Mrs.  Hamersley  firmly, 
"if  Amos  has  to  sell  a  railroad.  I  do  want  to 
meet  a  few  people  before  I  die :  And  the  Venetians 
are  so  dear." 

"Isn't  such  a  function  rather  burdensome  on 
poor  Edith  in  view  of  their,  eh,  changed  cir- 
cumstances?" 

Mrs.  Hamersley  showed  surprise:  "Why,  the 
function  is  really  in  honor  of  their  changed  cir- 
cumstances. Haven't  you  heard?" 

"I  knew,  of  course,  Merrilie  had  lost  every  cent 
she  had  in  the  world." 

"But,  Belle,  dear,  she  has  it  all  back  again— 

"Wearing  black  again?" 

"Has  her  money  all  back  again;  in  fact,  she 
never  actually  lost  it.  She  was  merely  enormously 
overloaded  with  Steel  stock  during  the  money 
panic.  Poor  Merrilie,  Belle,  actually  owns  the 
great  Adrane  steel  properties." 

377 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"But  they  are  bankrupt,  I  thought!" 

"Not  at  any  time;  not  even  embarrassed.  Mr. 
Adrane  was — not  his  companies.  That  is  why 
Mr.  Drake's  suit  for  a  receiver  failed  even  after 
one  had  been  appointed.  They  are  not  only 
prosperous,  but  Amos  says  they  are  producing 
steel  so  cheap  the  Steel  Trust  is  moving  heaven 
and  earth  to  get  hold  of  them.  It  seems  Mr. 
Havens  and  some  friends  of  his  supposed,  after 
the  panic,  that  they  had  control  of  the  stock. 
But,  lo  and  behold,  when  they  counted  all  the 
shares  Mr.  Benjamin  had  control  with  the  hold- 
ings of  Merrilie  Dawes!  Extraordinary,  isn't  it?" 

"I  can't  understand  it,  Kate!" 

"Neither  can  I.  But  I  heard  Amos  tell  David 
Spruance  that  Merrilie  will  be  far  richer  than  ever 
her  father  was.  It  is  astonishing." 

"Do  you  know,"  drawled  Mrs.  Hamersley,  when 
in  Venice  some  weeks  later  she  was  talking  with 
Merrilie  in  Edith's  apartments  in  the  palazzo,  "I 
believe,  from  the  way  Belle  talks  since  she  has 
found  out  you  didn't  really  lose  your  money,  she 
thinks  you  have  won  John  by  some  sleight  of 
hand." 

"It  was  a  very  old-fashioned  trick,  Aunt  Kate," 
said  Merrilie.  "I  won  John  because  I  cared  more 
for  him  than  for  anything  else  in  all  the  world — 

378 


Merrilie  Dawes 

and  he  found  it  out.  That  is  all  there  is  to  that. 
It  is  true,  I  came  through  safely,  but  there  were 
days  and  days  when  I  thought  every  dollar  I  had 
in  the  world  had  been  swept  away — does  she  think 
I  suffered  nothing  then? 

"I  wasn't  born  to  escape  such  things,"  she  sighed 
frankly.  "I  wish  I  could  be  a  lovely,  peaceful 
creature  like  Annie;  but  I  can't."  Adrane  walked 
in  while  she  was  speaking.  "John,"  she  contin- 
ued plaintively — and  standing  before  him,  look- 
ing trustingly  into  his  eyes,  Merrilie  was  plaintive 
without  effort — "I  am  afraid  you  are  marrying  a 
terrible  creature — do  you  mind  if  I  storm  once 
in  a  while?" 

"Storm  any  time  you  like.  Mr.  Henry  Ben- 
jamin, from  New  York  by  steamer  and  the  last 
Alpine  tunnel,  is  down-stairs  with  Mr.  Hamersley. 
He  is  charged  with  important  communications  to 
you  from  the  Steel  Trust — supplementing  what 
Mr.  Hamersley  told  you  last  night." 

"Oh,  what  a  nuisance  communications  are  now, 
John!  But  Mr.  Benjamin  was  my  best  friend 
when  I  was  in  trouble.  I  must  see  him.  Come, 
Aunt  Kate." 

They  all  went  down  together.  Henry  Benjamin 
stated  his  mission  openly,  and  told  Merrilie  with- 
out reserve  what  he  was  authorized  to  offer  her 
for  her  Steel  shares. 

379 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Mr.  Benjamin,"  objected  Merrilie  at  once, 
"did  you  get  my  bank  stock  all  back?" 

"I  did  get  it  all  back,  Miss  Dawes,"  answered 
Henry  Benjamin. 

"And  you've  gone  on  the  board  of  direc- 
tors?" 

He  bowed.     "Through  your  courtesy." 

"No,  through  your  faithfulness.  And  you  asked 
Mr.  Havens  for  his  resignation?" 

"Mr.  Havens  has  resigned." 

"I'm  shocked,"  declared  Mrs.  Hamersley,  turn- 
ing to  Merrilie.  "I  supposed  you  would  charita- 
bly overlook  Mr.Havens's  little  purposeful  schemes 
and  forgive  him." 

"Oh,  I  have  forgiven  him,  Aunt  Kate,  of 
course,"  returned  Merrilie.  "I  wanted  his  resig- 
nation only  that  he  might  be  free  to  continue  his 
uplift  work  in  other  directions." 

"The  Steel  Trust  has  taken  over  all  the  South- 
ern plants,  you  know,"  continued  Benjamin,  un- 
folding his  subject  to  Merrilie. 

Merrilie's  eyes  lighted  sceptically.  "Yes,  but 
they  took  them  over  for  nothing.  They  don't 
think  they  are  going  to  take  our  property  in  that 
way,  do  they?" 

"I  am  authorized  to  offer  you  the  market  value, 
as  of  to-day,  for  all  of  your  stock  and  a  bonus  equal 
to  an  appraised  value  of  the  properties." 

380 


Merrilie  Dawes 

Merrilie  gasped.   "Why,  that's  nothing  at  all!" 

"It  is  more  than  twice  what  you  paid  for  it," 
urged  Benjamin  meekly. 

"Yes,  but  I  bought  it  from  a  friend  at  a  bargain, 
and  I  have  to  settle  with  him,  don't  you  see?" 
She  glanced  at  Adrane.  "Do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  let  these  Pittsburghers  have  the  proper- 
ties for  twice  what  I  paid?  Heavens,  what  assur- 
ance. John,  why  don't  you  say  something?" 

"Merrilie,  you  know  so  much  more  than  I  do,  it 
isn't  necessary.  You're  exactly  right  in  holding 
out.  You  have  the  last  great  deposit  of  iron  in 
the  United  States.  Make  them  give  you  three 
times,  if  you  like.  They  must  have  it." 

"You  mean,  give  us,  John." 

"No,  you.  I  am  out  of  Steel.  I  am  going  into 
buying  railroads  again  and  selling  them  to  Mr. 
Hamersley." 

"John  Adrane,"  protested  Mrs.  Hamersley, 
"do  you  want  to  see  me  in  the  poorhouse,.or 
writing  beauty  hints  for  women,  at  my  age? 
That's  where  you  will  land  me  if  you  keep  Amos 
buying  railroads." 

"I  am  authorized  to  pay  you,  for  a  control,  prac- 
tically your  own  price,  Miss  Merrilie,"  said  Ben- 
jamin. 

"Then  let  the  stock  go,  Merrilie,"  suggested 
Adrane. 

381 


Merrilie  Dawes 

"Right,"  interposed  Amos  ftamersley  deci- 
sively. "Let  it  go." 

Merrilie  raised  her  hand.  "It  is  gone.  John 
and  Mr.  Hamersley  will  confer  with  you  on  a  fig- 
ure, Mr.  Benjamin." 

Henry  Benjamin  rose.     "I  must  cable." 

"But  you  will  be  with  us  to-morrow?"  de- 
manded Adrane. 

"Nothing  could  keep  me  away." 

"I've  been  trying  for  months,"  observed  Ham- 
ersley to  Merrilie,  "to  induce  John  to  join  me  in 
railroads — use  your  influence  with  him.  And 
instead  of  bleeding  me  as  you  have  in  the  past, 
John,"  he  added,  turning  on  Adrane,  "take  me  as 
a  partner.  Give  me  a  part  of  your  profits  as 
seller  instead  of  gouging  me  as  a  buyer.  Live 
and  let  live.  When  do  Venetians  dine?" 

In  the  evening  Merrilie  stole  with  Adrane  out 
on  her  terrace  and  they  stood  together  in  the 
moonlight.  "If  I  can  only  get  the  old  home  back 
for  you,  Merrilie,"  he  said,  "I  shall  die  relieved." 

"No,  not  the  old  home.  The  old  life  is  gone. 
It  is  the  new  life  for  us,  John.  And  a  new  home." 


382 


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